Losing Control
by LindaO
Summary: Lily Romanov's pregnancy forces Control to make an unthinkable decision, and he launches the most dangerous and deceptive plan of his long career to insure their future. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the next in my Romanov Stories series. In the timeline, it follows "The Wolves" by a few months. Fair warning, there is only one more story after this one.
1. Prologue

"God pardon me!" he subjoined ere long; "and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will hold her." Charlotte Bronte, _Jane Eyre_

Prologue

This is how it ends.

Control lay on the floor of his living room, on his previously spotless and rarely-used white carpet, half-paralyzed, alone, and helpless. Three feet in front of him, his personal safe was open. Inside was a pile of file folders, each neatly labeled with the name of one of his associates. They were empty. Lily Romanov had taken the contents when she'd left him.

On top of the folders was a hand-written note on red paper.

_If you harm Control or come after me, I will burn you all. _

_I'll be in touch. _

_Romanov _

He had been there alone for more than an hour. The floor was probably cold and hard beneath him, but he could not feel it. His entire left side was numb. From face to foot, he felt nothing at all, only heavy numbness and absence. His right leg was also without feeling from the thigh down. He guessed that his lips gaped open, that spittle ran down his cheek onto the rug. He knew that his bladder had released because he could smell the urine; he felt no moisture under his hip.

This is how it ends, he thought again.

It was very possible that his life would end here. He was helpless. His lover had gone, and taken with her all the secrets that protected his life from his enemies. His long-secret romance with an agent had been revealed. His career had probably been over before he'd fallen to the floor.

This is how it ends, waiting alone to be found and killed.

Perhaps it had always been destined to end this way. Perhaps everything that had happened was set in motion on that first stormy night in Budapest, a decade before, when he'd taken a half-frozen young courier into his bed.

He stared again at the safe. It had been his secret pride, the insurance policy that kept his enemies and his co-workers at bay. Now it was empty, ransacked of everything but the ominously labeled folders, an empty jewelry box, and the note. All gone, all gone. Like everything that he'd worked for in his life. Gone.

His upper right side was still perfectly functional. He could have rolled himself over, at least onto his back. But it would have done him no good; the nearest phone was halfway across the room. He had no desire to call anyone, anyhow. The one person he would have reached to for help had left him here and was miles away by now.

He reached across his body and touched the cheap gold band on the third finger of his left hand. His wedding ring. His brilliant farce of a wedding, of a marriage. The little play that had brought Lily here, into his apartment. That had given her access to the safe.

Gone. All gone.

Alone. Wounded. Robbed of his security. Abandoned. Helpless. Broken in a pool of his own piss.

This is how Control ends.


	2. Chapter 1

Lily flopped into the white chair closest to Control's desk, leaving the far one – the one with the best view of the closed door – for him. Control wandered to it absently as he thumbed through her report.

"So we're exactly where we expected to be," he concluded as he dropped into the chair.

"Yes. Nobody wants to budge."

"Damn." He flipped back and began to read the report in detail.

"Did the best I could," Lily answered quietly.

Control glanced up at her. She looked tired, and somehow uneasy. "I know you did." He went back to the report and asked, absently, "How's our other project going?"

There wasn't even a beat of hesitation. "Oh, the results have turned quite positive."

Control snapped his head up, dropping the report into his lap. "_What_?"

A quirky smile played over Lily's mouth. She shrugged. "Of course, it will be months before we have any visible evidence."

"You …" Control's mouth was too dry for words. He licked his lips, shaking his head to clear it. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

Lily's smile grew broader. "You did ask," she pointed out.

Control took a deep breath, and then another. He stopped trying to talk and just looked at her. He couldn't stop looking at her. Her expression, smugly pleased and a little unsure. The delighted mischief of having genuinely surprised him – it shouldn't be such a surprise, they had planned this – and here of all places, here where they never even let their hands touch …

_Damn!_ He glanced frantically at the door – shut tight – and around the office. They were alone. He was reasonably sure it was free of bugs. He reviewed the conversation. No, nothing incriminating so far.

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Opened them and looked across at his lover – and the mother-to-be of his child. She'd stopped smiling.

"Are you okay?" Lily asked gently.

Control shook his head, bewildered. He licked his lips again. "I'm not sure."

Lily's concern grew more visible. "It's what you said you wanted."

"It is what I want," Control answered firmly. "I just … uh … didn't expect results this quickly." He frowned sternly. "And I certainly didn't expect to be informed _here_."

Her mischievous glimmer returned. "Then you shouldn't have asked."

Control nodded grudgingly. The initial shock was wearing off; his thoughts became somewhat more ordered. "Are you sure?"

"I am not in the habit of reporting results I have not confirmed."

"How long have you known?"

Lily glanced at her watch significantly. Hours, not days.

"And, ah," Control's mouth was cotton-dry again, "exactly when are we _expecting_ these final results?"

She shook her head. "Early November, I think. I need to look at a calendar. I meant to do that before I left home, but I was already late for work. And my boss is a real stickler for punctuality."

"He sounds like an inconsiderate bastard."

Lily shrugged. "He has his moments."

Control stood up and paced slowly, moved behind her chair. "You're all right?" he asked quietly.

"A little … off balance. But I'm okay."

"We need to start making arrangements."

"No." It was almost a snap.

"No?" Control asked in surprise. "You can't honestly think I'm going to let you …"

"Take any more meetings?" Lily asked reasonably. "You're right. I couldn't possibly squeeze any more meetings into my schedule for the next few weeks."

Control took another slow lap of the office, considering. She was right, of course. He knew her schedule and there was nothing dangerous on it. He didn't need to take any action right now. Still, "Plans, nonetheless."

"Let's, uh, wait on that." Lily licked her lips, and for the first time he was aware of the tension in her shoulders. "Give it a little time, make sure the outcome isn't going to be … the same as last time."

He nodded his understanding. "The circumstances are completely different. We've had assurances of a positive outcome."

"And my head is appropriately reassured," Lily agreed. She brought one hand to the center of her chest. "But here, I'm not convinced. Let's not jinx this."

Lily never shown the slightest inclination to be superstitious, not in the whole time Control had known her. But this fear had been with her since the night they first began trying to conceive a child. She had miscarried her first pregnancy early, and he could see how, despite the difference in circumstances, she was terrified that it would happen again. Logic played no part in that fear. Nothing that he said would reassure her. Time would, nothing else.

She was going to meetings, out of danger. They had time. "All right," Control agreed. "We'll give it a little time, see how things develop."

"Thank you."

"Oh, no." He paused behind her chair, let his hand fall to her shoulder, and squeezed, once, warmly. "Thank _you_."

* * *

Early March in northern Virginia was ugly: cold, wet, snarling with wind, covered in mud. Control didn't honestly think that New York City would have been any better, but at least he could have been sheltering from the rain with his lover by his side. Instead he was perched on an uncomfortably hard chair around a conference room table with a handful of semi-powerful men engaged in a pissing contest.

The Director, Michael Olford, had convened the meeting to discuss the Company's priorities for the year. Federal budget cuts were, as always, looming on the horizon, and he wanted to be sure the most critical operations and projects got funded first. The most reasonable approach seemed to be to bring all the players together and reach an agreement on exactly what the priorities should be.

Reasonable approaches, in Control's experience, had very little bearing on actual events. This meeting was no exception. Every man at the table had his own turf, his own pet projects, and his status depended on having those projects fully funded. Instead of an exchange of ideas, the meeting had swiftly devolved into a full-out turf war.

The one grace to being Control was that his budget was largely untouchable. He discussed his expenditures only with Olford, and only in private. He had been assured before the meeting that his funding would not be cut. He had no particular stake in the meeting, though he sometimes weighed in to support those programs he felt were most helpful to him. The rest, the petty politics and deal-making, he could afford to ignore.

But he was acutely aware that Jason Masur was on the other side of the table, watching him with ill-concealed loathing.

Control was certain that Masur had played a role in the multiple attempts to assassinate him the previous fall. He would gladly have taken the little weasel out behind the building and shot him dead. But Olford had other fish to fry, and he still believed Masur could bring them onto the boat. Out of loyalty to the Director – and nothing else – Control had so far spared his life.

Soon, Control thought. Soon the bastard would wear out his usefulness. And then he would be Control's to dispose of.

He was going to enjoy that day.

A gust of wind splashed rain against the window, and Control turned his head, ignoring the droning argument behind him. Hopefully the meeting would wrap up by the end of the day. He could go back to New York, where it would also be raining. Back to Lily.

Back home.

He was still the only person that knew about her pregnancy. She had almost no symptoms – some fatigue, some loss of appetite, nothing that would attract attention – and of course she wasn't showing yet. But she knew, and he knew. Of all the secrets he had kept in his life, this one was the best. The most joyous.

She had four more weeks before her resignation from the Company became official. Four weeks before she was out, clean. Safe. She had nothing on her schedule but meetings and debriefings. No danger. No risk.

He smiled to himself. And then what? A new house? A new job? A lot of choices to make, a lot of changes coming. But they were all good things. They would work them out. And by next Christmas they would have a child together …

Olford stood up. "This is getting us nowhere," he announced. "Let's take a break." He stomped out of the room.

Control rolled slowly to his feet. The chair was killing him. He rubbed his back absently with one hand.

"Control."

He took his time looking up. "Jason?"

"This resignation. Romanov."

Control felt his stomach clench. He kept it off his face, out of his voice. "What about it?"

"I'm disallowing it."

With icy calm, Control asked, "Why?"

"She's valuable. We're not letting her go."

"She's a courier."

"I don't care what you call her. She has too much knowledge."

Careful, Control warned himself. Push too hard and it would provoke the little creep to look further. "She's burned out."

"Put her on a desk, then. But don't let her walk out the door." Masur dropped the paper onto the table in front of Control. It has been stamped 'DENIED' on red ink six times. "Or we'll have to kill her."

He walked out of the room.

Control picked up the paper. His hand was trembling. Carefully, he tucked the form with his other documents in a thin manila folder. He was full of rage and fear, and he didn't dare show either of them.

Jason was only a few steps ahead. He could catch up with him, kill him in the corridor. No one would try to stop him, not until it was done …

No. He needed to think. He needed to act, but he needed to act smart. Be calm, he told himself. She's in no more danger now than she was thirty seconds ago. You can find away around this. Calm down and think.

This was his own fault. After he was shot, he'd kept her at his side. He'd needed her. When his life was in danger and he could only trust a handful of true friends, she'd been one of them. In the end, she'd saved his life. He could call her a courier now until the end of his days; the evidence was convincing that she was something more.

He sat down again, ignoring the hardness of the chair. Then he folded his hands and closed his eyes and tried very hard to drive the vision of his hands around Jason Masur's neck from his mind.

The meeting went on the rest of the day, and part of Friday. Control was careful not to let Masur see how angry he was. In fact, he barely spoke to the man – which was as things usually were. When the last ounce of his patience had been squeezed dry by the petty politics of money, Olford finally called a halt and released them all.

The Director, Control was certain, was going to spend Friday afternoon through Monday at his beachfront home in the Keys. He could almost have guessed what flight he'd be on.

He didn't care. All Control wanted to do was get back home, back to Lily. And then –

He still hadn't figured out what to do.

Put her on a desk, Masur had said. Easy enough, either in the city or somewhere else in the world. Easy except for her pregnancy. Because once her condition became obvious, the questions would fly. And the minute Control showed his face within a hundred miles of her and the child, the rumors would start to turn dangerously towards the truth.

Put her on a desk far away and never see her or the child again. That was the obvious, safe answer.

It was unthinkable.

There had to be another way. Appeal directly to Olford, or higher. Get Dr. Tillman to issue her a medical discharge – and rush it through before Jason noticed. Either one of those was likely to tweak Masur's interest. And once that little bastard knew about the baby, he'd draw a straight line between Lily and Control.

Somehow, Control had to convince Jason that getting Lily Romanov out of the Company was Masur's idea, and in his own best interest.

Or else he had to kill him.

Killing him seemed like a much better idea. Olford wouldn't like it, but if Control gave the Director plausible deniability, it would fly.

A third option occurred to him. He could hide Lily away somewhere until Olford had what he wanted from Masur, then reconnect with her once Jason was dead.

He still wasn't thinking clearly about it. He was too angry and too afraid. He knew Jason presented a threat to his life; that didn't bother him much. But a threat to Lily – and now to her child – was intolerable.

He needed to talk to someone who could think coldly and objectively about the situation. He needed Robert McCall.

But first, he wanted to see Lily. Five days without her seemed unbearable now. It would be tricky; he didn't want to tell her that Jason Masur was meddling with their lives until he had a solid solution in hand, and Lily was damnably good at reading him. She was likely to know that something was bothering him. But he could pass it off as aggravation from the extended meeting, maybe, if he was careful. In any case, he could not stay away.

* * *

He caught the late lunch flight back from Washington. Most people would have called it a week and gone straight home. In all honesty Control wanted nothing more that to go straight to Lily's apartment and stay there, let her soothe his jangled nerves and vent his frustrations at the idiots he worked for. But he was Control, and he made himself stick to his usual pattern: He went to the office. Badgered a few people, barked a few orders, muttered darkly and locked himself in his office. When it was half-dark and the office was mostly empty, he stalked out, went to his apartment, showered, and finally, carefully, went to the place he considered home.

Lily was stretched out on the couch, and he could tell that until he opened the door she'd been asleep. It was barely nine o'clock. The pregnancy, early as it was, was knocking her out. "Don't get up," he said from the door. "It's just me."

She sat up anyhow. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"Sorry. Should have called, given your boyfriend time to get his pants on."

Lily shrugged. "Nah, he was leaving anyhow." She waited while Control took off his jacket and tie, then patted the couch next to her. "You look like hell."

"Thanks." He sank wearily onto the couch next to her, turned his shoulders willingly to her waiting hands. She rubbed his sore neck expertly, her thumbs and fingers almost unbearably firm, just the way he liked it. "How are you?" As an afterthought, he amended, "You two."

It seemed to Control that there was a beat too much hesitation. "We're fine."

"Lily."

"We're fine," she repeated, more certainly.

He caught her hands, twisted back to look at her. "Promise?"

"I promise."

She wasn't lying, he could see it in her, but she wasn't telling him everything, either. He drew her closer and kissed her experimentally, as if he could taste the truth on her lips. She returned the kiss, just a trace hesitantly. Control leaned back. "What is it, Lily?"

Lily sighed. "I promise, everything is fine. But … we can't make love, not tonight."

"All right." He watched her closely. Their relationship was years past the point where he only came to her apartment for sex and she knew it. But it could only mean, at this juncture, that there was some problem. All his concerns of the day, everything that had happened at the budget meetings, at the office, vanished. Even Jason was gone. He felt the cold edges of dread climbing up his spine.

"It's just for a couple days," she assured him, "not for the duration, just a precaution, really …"

"Lily," Control said firmly. "What's happened?"

She ducked her head, just for a second, and then looked up. He saw her read the concern in his face; she leaned and kissed him lightly on the forehead, on each cheek. "_Kedves_, my love, listen to me. I'm fine, the baby's fine. I had a scare, that's all."

"A scare. What the hell does that mean?" Lily flinched at his tone, and Control forced himself to soften it. "What kind of scare?"

"I had some spotting. _Spotting_," she repeated firmly. "As in spots." She held her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "Spots. Understand?"

Her reassurances did not stop the apprehension that marched up his back to his brain. "Spots of blood."

"Yes."

"That's not usual. Is it?"

"It's not uncommon at this stage."

He glared at her. "Did you see a doctor?" he demanded, knowing that she hadn't.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Lily half-chuckled, nervous in the face of his angry fear. "I did. _Kedves_, listen to me, everything is fine. Stop this, you're all knotted up again. Stop." She brushed her fingers along his face, down his clenched jaw. "I swear to you, the baby is fine."

Control took a deep breath. She had always resisted doctors when she could. She must have been scared out of her mind if she'd actually gone of her own volition.

"I have a picture," Lily volunteered, "sorta." She opened the coffee table drawer, drew out an unsealed envelope and took a small square of paper out. "Here." She handed it to him, and before he could protest, bounced to her feet and went to get his reading glasses from his jacket pocket. "You won't be able to see much – at least, I couldn't – but the technician and the doctor both swear everything looks perfectly normal."

He slipped on his glasses and looked at the paper. It wasn't a photo, exactly, just a piece of glossy fax-type paper, with a two-inch black square in the center. Within the blackness there were white curving lines, irregular and broken, most of a long oval and within a small partial circle. "They did an ultrasound?"

Lily shrugged. "I made them. I was kinda freaked. I think they decided it was easier just to do it than to try to talk me down."

"Kinda freaked," Control repeated softly. It was very clear to him that Lily had indeed been terrified. Of course she had been, after the last time. She was light and dismissive now, trying to calm him, but he could feel the undercurrent, the residual fear in her. That was the conflict he'd been reading since he walked through the door.

On impulse, he reached out and put his hand on the back of her neck, drew her to him and kissed her, gently and at length. "My poor girl," he murmured. "I should have been here."

Lily shook her head. "No, it's bad enough I was an idiot all on my own." She sat up, pointed to the tiny picture with the tip of her pinky finger. "Here's where his head is," she explained, pointing to the smaller circle. "And this little squiggle is his heart, and they tell me it looks fine, but I couldn't start to tell how they know. And there are definitely two arms and two legs, you could see them when he moved."

"He?" Control asked softly.

"Um, no. He or she, too soon to tell. Do you have a preference?"

"No." Calmer, finally, he stared at the exquisite woman beside him. She was emerging from the shadow of her fear. Suddenly this baby was real to her, and she was starting to believe she could keep him. Or her. Pregnant glow, he'd heard and dismissed, but Lily was lit up in a way he'd never seen before.

She caught his gaze, and blushed. "What?"

"Nothing." He looked back at the picture. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to a thicker part of the bigger oval.

"Placenta," Lily answered, "and it's all high and nice and they're very pleased with the placement, although it may shift some as we grow." She shrugged. "I feel a little like a prize heifer, to be honest."

Control considered. "Well, if the shoe fits …"

"Shut up."

He sat back, letting the relief wash through him. Lily was right. Armed with an impossibly unclear black and white photo, things were suddenly much more real, and somehow more settled. "So the bleeding was …?"

"Nothing," Lily repeated. "They said it just happens, and unless there's a lot more I shouldn't worry about it. Just that I should take it easy for a few days and lay off intercourse for a week."

Control nodded again, satisfied. "I don't suppose you did anything radical like take a day off, did you?"

"Well, no, but I did postpone the Hennrich meeting and stay in bed all morning."

"You were meeting Hennrich on Wednesday."

"Yeah."

He frowned at her. "When did all this happen?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

"Tuesday afternoon," he repeated slowly, "and I'm finding out about it on Friday night? They do have telephones in Washington, you know."

"Yeah," Lily answered, a trace defensively, "and fax machines, too. Did you want me to send the ultrasound picture to the hotel lobby?"

"You should have called me." His tone was distinctly cool.

"I wanted to. But when it first started I couldn't think of an excuse …and you would have been in meetings anyhow, and then by the time I could have reached you at the hotel I already knew there was nothing to worry about."

"You should have called me anyhow." Control's voice moved from cool to heated. "If you were that concerned, you should have called me."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"You could at least pretend to keep me in the loop."

"I'm keeping you in the loop. I'm telling you now. There was nothing you could have done then, and there was nothing to worry about anyhow. I didn't see any need to disturb you."

"Damn it, Lily, this is my child, too!"

"Damn it, Control, you weren't here!"

They both froze.

It had been years, literally years, since she'd called him Control when they were alone.

"Andrew, I'm sorry," Lily said quickly, sincerely. "I didn't mean …"

"I know." He gathered her in his arms, in part so she couldn't look into his eyes. "I know. But you're right. I wasn't here, because I was off being Control."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I know you didn't, but it's still the truth."

She sat back, looked at him again. "You're absolutely right, Andrew. I should have called you. I should have. But I was so scared I couldn't think straight, and then by the time I could I knew everything was fine and so I knew it could wait … I'm sorry. I should have called. It won't happen again."

He took a long, slow breath again. It still hurt; there was still some nagging fear, in the pit of his stomach. But Lily was right, too. He nodded his forgiveness. "We need to come up with some codes," he said quietly, conversationally. "Should have done that before now."

Lily nodded contritely.

"Ah, love, don't. I'm not mad at you. I'm just …" He shook his head. "You caught me off-guard. But he's okay, really?"

"Really."

"Good." He turned on the couch and stretched out, with his head in Lily's lap, his ear pressed against her deceivingly flat belly. "I wish I could hear him. Hear his heart or something."

"In a month or so," Lily soothed his hair back from his forehead, stroked his face gently. "This time next year you'll be wishing he'd shut up."

Control smiled fondly. "It's real now, isn't it?" he said reverently. He held the picture up in front of him, studied it again. "We knew before, but … it's really real now."

Lily sighed. "Yeah. I thought that, too."

"We need to start making plans."

"Yes."

He closed his eyes. It was too comfortable, there with his lover and their child, their tiny, tiny, but so far healthy child. Their child who had two arms and two legs, an alarmingly large head, and a heartbeat all his own.

Or her own.

"Tomorrow," Control murmured. "Tomorrow we'll make plans."


	3. Chapter 2

Lily slept.

Control did too, for a time. Then he woke, in the relentless grip of an impossible dream. He lay for a long time, rolling it around in his mind. Inconceivable. Impossible. But he had done the impossible before. Dangerous. To him; he didn't care. To Lily. To the child. That risk was intolerable.

He had not told her that Jason Masur was going to block her resignation. She had been too distracted to notice that he was hiding anything.

Intolerable risks. Unimaginable rewards.

And the cost – his career, his honor, certainly. It was unequivocally treason, this thing he pondered. His life, very possibly. Very probably.

So – give up the idea. But consider the alternatives. Contemplate the life you will have if you don't do this.

A scare on Tuesday, and you find out on Friday night. And when you send her half a world away to hide the child?

He sat up. Lily stirred. "Gotta check in," he murmured, and she rolled over and slept. He padded to the living room for his portable phone and called the office. There was nothing urgent. He went back to the bedroom and gathered his clothes.

"Leaving?" Lily asked, still half-asleep. "Need me?"

"Always," Control replied. "Go back to sleep." He kissed her softly and left her already dreaming again.

He drove several miles from the apartment, then parked his car and walked. It had not rained in enough in New York to wash away the heaps of show; instead it had covered the piles with a glaze of ice.

He turned the idea every direction in his mind. Considering the possible outcomes, the potential dangers. It was impossible. Reckless, foolish. And yet …

… and yet the alternatives were worse.

It came, in the end, to this: Lily had to leave. Had to start a new life, under a new identify, far away from New York City. Given Masur's edict, there was absolutely no other way to keep her and the child safe.

The safest thing, once she was gone, was for him to never try to contact her again.

Unless …

He rolled the idea over and over. At last, he stopped at a phone booth and called Robert McCall. He ignored his old friend's gruff tones and snide queries about his ability to tell time. He asked, when he could get a word in, only one question. "Are you alone?

* * *

Robert considered the black and white picture on the thin, shiny paper. He pursed his lips to a thin line. "What am I looking at, Control?" he demanded impatiently. "A bunker? A coastline? What is this, that's so bloody important I had to see it at this hour?"

"It's my son," Control announced. His words didn't come out nearly as nonchalant as he'd intended; the quaver in his voice startled him nearly as much as his words startled Robert. He shrugged, swallowed hard. "Or my daughter. Too soon to tell."

McCall stared at him. Then he studied the grainy picture with new interest. "Lily's child," he said softly.

"Yes." Control ran his fingers through his hair. "And yes," he added, "he or she was most meticulously planned."

"I wouldn't have asked that," Robert protested vaguely. He studied the picture intently. "I don't know a lot about these things – ultrasounds? But from what I learned when Becky was pregnant, isn't it rather early for this?"

Control nodded grimly. "She had a scare."

"A scare? A miscarriage scare?"

"Yes. But everything's fine, she says." He shrugged again, gestured to the photo. "Everything's fine. There's the proof."

"And yet here you are, at four in the morning. What is it, Control?"

Control turned away from his friend's question. It was one thing to harbor an insane notion in the solitude of his own mind. It was quite another to speak it aloud, even to his oldest friend in the world. He turned back and took the picture gently from Robert's hand. "It happened on Tuesday," he finally said. "This scare. Tuesday. I didn't find out about it until a few hours ago. I was in Washington. Budget meetings. Lily didn't call me."

"If there was nothing wrong, nothing to report …"

"I know," Control agreed quickly. "I know. That was her reasoning. No need to take a chance. Perfectly logical, of course." He chewed his lip. "She was terrified, she had to be, but she never broke cover. My perfect little agent."

"Control …"

"It will always be like this!" Control snapped. "Every time, in this child's whole life. Every emergency. Every triumph. I will never be there. I will always miss it. His first step, his first smile, his first broken bone. Everything. I will miss everything!"

"Yes," Robert agreed harshly. "And when you planned this child so meticulously, you must have anticipated all of that."

Control covered his eyes with one hand. "I did, Robert." He rubbed his face, then dropped the hand. "I thought it all through. I just didn't anticipate how difficult the reality would be."

"For God's sake, Control …"

"There's more."

"More."

"We put through Lily's resignation. Jason Masur denied it."

"What?"

"She's too valuable to let go."

"She's a _courier_! She's not …" Robert stopped. Control could see him recognizing the futility of expecting clear thinking from Jason Masur. "So what are you going to do?"

Control looked at him steadily. "I'm going to marry her."

"You're _what_? Control, have you lost your mind? You are Control. You cannot claim her, or this child. Because the moment you do, half the world will be gunning for them. Whatever half-witted scheme you're concocting …"

"I'm leaving the Company."

Robert stopped in mid-rant. "What?"

It was, Control found, much easier to say the second time. "I'm leaving the Company, Robert. I'm taking Lily and our child and I'm leaving."

"They'll never let you go, Control. They'll kill you first. Both of you. You know that as well as I do."

Control spread his hands in supplication. "And so I am here. To ask for your help."

"I won't help you commit suicide!"

"If I have to live without them, I might as well be dead!"

Their eyes locked. They had known each other for decades. Faced death together, and life. Takes impossible risks, attained impossible triumphs. And suffered unbearable failures. The years, the knowledge, the shared lives, filled the room around them, phantoms crowding memories. There was no need to talk about any of it. They knew each other too well.

After a long moment, McCall turned away. He poured a short whiskey for himself and another for Control. He took his time about it. When he finally handed the glass over, he said, calmly, "It won't be easy. Most of your staff has already seen you die once."

Control nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Robert."

"For helping you write your own death warrant? Always glad to oblige." McCall tossed his drink back. "Tell me, my friend, what does Lily think of this suicide mission?"

Control winced and threw back his own drink. "She doesn't know about it yet."

McCall sighed and refilled their glasses. "Well," he mused, "at least we know what our first obstacle will be, don't we?"

* * *

They made coffee, dark and bitter, and they talked. At seven, McCall called Lily's number. She answered on the second ring, clearly groggy. "'lo?"

"It's Robert. I'm sorry to wake you."

She didn't bother to deny it. "It's okay. What's up?"

Robert hesitated, looking across the room to Control. "I know this is short notice, but I have a new client and I could really use your help. If you're available."

"Ummm …"

McCall thought quickly. He hadn't expected her to be suddenly cautious, though he was glad she was. "It's nothing hazardous," he assured her. "Just a rather large organizational matter."

"Oh. Okay." She sounded more awake now. "I still my day job, you know."

"We'll work around it. Can you come over right away?"

"Sure. Give me half an hour."

"Be careful. The steps are icy. I'll make you breakfast."

"I'll be there."

Robert put down the phone and looked again at his old friend. "Here we go."

In twenty-five minutes, there was a knock on the door. Robert was in his bedroom. Control opened the door.

Lily was still bleary-eyed, but only a little surprised to see him. She closed the door and kissed him on the cheek. "False pretenses so early, love?"

"You have no idea."

"Where's Robert?"

"Getting dressed, I think."

Her eyes grew wary. She knew him too well. "And?"

"Take your coat off. Let me get you some coffee."

"Andrew."

He helped her with her coat anyhow. "This isn't … there isn't an easy way to say this."

"The easiest way to _hear_ it would be very quickly, then."

Still he hesitated. He was Control, damn it – but he wasn't. Not with her. And Andrew was scared to death. Start with the easy part. "Jason Masur has disallowed your resignation."

Control could see the relief in Lily's face, in her whole body. It was only Jason; they could handle it. "And you and Robert have been up all night dreaming up some scheme to go around him."

"Of course."

She trailed him into the little kitchen. "All right. Let's hear it."

He poured her a cup of coffee, lingering over it. Thinking. He should have had a ring. An emerald. Of course the jewelers weren't open yet, but Robert probably had one in his safe, not a ring but at least a stone. No, that was stupid. Here's an emerald, we'll get it mounted later, and will you …

It occurred to him, much too late, that part of this whole scheme involved asking Lily Romanov to marry him. And that maybe a proposal ought not to take place in a mutual friend's kitchen at the crack of dawn, and in the context of a plan that would probably get them all killed.

But she was sipping her coffee, waiting patiently, expecting brilliance.

"You and I are going to get married," Control announced, with a great deal more confidence than he felt. "I'm going to leave the Company, we're going to run away and change our name and buy a house on the ocean. And live happily ever after."

There was ten seconds of silence. When he managed to look up at her, Lily was sipping her coffee. Her eyes laughed over the rim of her cup. "That's lovely," she said. "Now what's the real plan?"

He sighed. "I should have had a ring. I knew it. An emerald, a really big garish one. And champagne – well, you can't drink, maybe sparkling cider or something …"

"Andrew."

"I'm absolutely serious, Lily."

"No, you're not."

"He is," Robert said from the other doorway. "We have it all mapped out."

Lily looked at him, then back to Control, then back at Robert. "Is this your idea?" she asked accusingly.

"It is not," he vowed. "But I understand Control's reasons. And I – reluctantly – agree that it's the best course of action."

She looked back to Control again. "They'll kill you." To Robert, "They'll kill him."

"We have a plan," Control assured her.

"They will _kill_ you," Lily repeated, with more certainty than either of the men had voiced. "They will never let you walk away from them."

"If they think I'm of no use to them …"

"Then they will kill you because you're weak and a danger to them."

"Lily …" Robert began.

"There's got to be another way."

"Of course there is," Control answered. "The other way is for you to leave, now, and for me never to see you again. Or to ever see our child."

She was silent. She sipped her coffee again, then put her cup down quietly on the counter. She looked at Robert again, and then at Control. Then she went back to the living room, picked up her coat, and let herself out.

The door closed almost silently behind her.

Control sighed. "I should have had a ring."

"I don't think that would have made any difference," Robert offered. "Do we alter the plans?"

Control shook his head. "No. She'll be back."

"You don't know that."

"I do," he said. As he spoke, his confidence in his words unexpectedly grew. "I know my girl. She'll be back."

McCall shrugged. "Then let's get back to work."


	4. Chapter 3

Scott McCall was dreaming of bonsai trees, oddly enough, when he wife woke him. "I'm sorry," Becky said, "I know it's early, but you need to get dressed."

"Okay." He rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up blearily. "Why?"

"You need to go see Lily."

"Okay," he said again. "Why?"

"She needs to ask you something."

"Did she call or something?"

Becky cocked her head. "No."

"Oh." With a little thrill of apprehension, Scott shoved his feet into his jeans from the night before and pulled them up as he stood. His wife had been mildly psychic for as long as he'd known her, but in the years since they'd been married her intuitions had become rare. While he missed parts of her gift, like the part that always let her find a parking space, he didn't miss the horrific visions she'd had, the nightmares and the waking terrors.

But the fading of her gifts had made the instances where they still occurred more alarming. Scott grabbed a clean shirt from the top of the dresser and hurried out to the kitchen. Their son Alex was in his walker, with a rolled-up towel stuffed around him to keep him upright. Scott leaned to kiss the top of his head. "Good morning, smiley." He straightened and took the travel mug of coffee his wife held out. "Is she is trouble?"

Becky frowned. "I don't know. She's very upset. And for me to be able to read her at all, let alone from far away and without trying? You need to get over there."

"You think we should call my dad?"

"I think … your dad may be part of it."

"Oh, lovely." Scott slurped a little coffee, flinched at the heat, sipped a little more. "I'll be back," he promised. He grabbed a jacket and hurried out.

* * *

The morning was bitter cold and the sidewalks were icy in places. There was no point in getting his car from the garage; Lily Romanov lived in what had been Scott's apartment, barely six blocks away. He shoved one hand in his pocket, tried to warm the other on the insulated coffee cup. In his mind, he could hear his father's lecture as he walked. You're a musician, Scott. Your hands are part of your craft. You really should take better care to protect them.

His gloves, of course, were in his car.

Scott switched hands, slurped a little more coffee, and walked faster.

There was a security lobby at the front of his old building. Scott pressed the buzzer for Romanov's apartment, but there was no answer. He looked over his shoulder, then grabbed the knob to the interior door. He still remembered the secret: Lift the door, turn the knob slightly right, then hard left, push until it clicked, then pull fast. The door opened.

He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on his old door. After so many years, it still felt a little strange to him that Lily lived there. There had been a time when he'd been sure she was his father's lover. And the truth was even stranger than that.

There was no answer.

Scott knocked louder. His hand stung from the cold. Lily had to be there; Becky wouldn't have sent him if she wasn't home. Unless she'd left after he started over. He stepped back and considered. Probably his best bet was to go down to the pay phone and call Becky. Of course, he didn't have a dime – or a wallet, or ID – on him.

The tiny old elevator dinged, and Lily came out, dragging a battered red footlocker behind her.

"Hey," Scott said, before she could get close enough to startle.

The woman looked up at him. She was dead pale, and her eyes had the puffy red dark-circle look that followed a hard cry. "What are you doing here?"

"Becky sent me." She dragged the trunk towards him, or rather towards her door. "Can I help you with that?"

He was sure she would refuse. Lily Romanov was a strong and stubborn woman. But to his surprise, she shrugged. "Sure."

Scott lifted the trunk. It wasn't very heavy. Lily unlocked her door and held it open for him. "Just put it on the coffee table," she said.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he put the trunk down.

"Fine. Why?"

"You've been crying."

She sniffed. "No I haven't."

"Oh. Okay."

Lily opened the trunk and began unloading Christmas wrapping paper onto the couch.

"Are you going somewhere?" Scott asked.

"Yes."

"Where?" She looked at him. "Right. Sorry." He began to help unload the trunk. There was a small stack of very old albums, Christmas songs by some group called the Fireside Singers. "What did you want to ask me?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh. Well, maybe I'm just here to help you with the trunk."

"Maybe." Lily sniffed again, rubbed at her eyes as if she was on the verge of crying again.

Scott had never seen Lily Romanov cry. He'd seen her go icy in a rough situation, seen her put on the same dead-eyed calm his father had. But cry? It made his stomach knot up.

He groped for something to say. "Won't the Company let you buy new luggage?" he asked lightly. "This trunk is all beat to hell." It was true; there was a big dent in the top of the red trunk and another on the side. A third of the paint had chipped off. The inside liner was faded to flat gray and torn.

Lily sniffed again. "I like my trunk," she answered quietly.

"Okay. Sorry."

"What was it like," she asked, suddenly stronger, "growing up with Robert? With him as your father?"

Scott's anxiety gave way in an instant to anger. "Why the hell would you ask me something like that?"

To his deep surprise, the spy ducked her head. "Sorry," she murmured. "Sorry."

"Lily." His anger vanished; his concern returned, doubled. "What _is_ it? I've never seen you like this."

She sighed, gave him a tight smile, though there were tears in her eyes again. "It's complicated."

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Lily dropped the small box she was holding. Glass inside shattered with a fragile tinkling sound. "How the hell did you know that?"

"Holy shit. Are you kidding?"

"How did you know?" she demanded.

"I didn't," Scott answered quickly. "I didn't, I just … when you were walking Alex for us, Becky said … she said you were trying it on for size. And the way you're acting today … but where are you going? Does Control even know about this?"

"He knows," Lily answered sadly. "Like I said, it's complicated."

"He doesn't want it?"

"Worse. He wants to leave the Company and be a real father."

Scott's forehead wrinkled in thought. "But they won't let him do that, will they?"

"No." Lily bent and picked up the box of glass shards, cradled it in both hands without lifting the lid.

"When my father left, they put a kill order out on him. For Control it would be even worse, right?"

"Yes."

"Then what …" Suddenly the trunk made sense, and the tears. "You're running. From him."

Lily walked across the room and dropped the small box into an empty trash can. The delicate ornaments shattered further. "To save his life." She bent her head again suddenly. "He won't listen to me. This is the only way."

The knot in Scott's stomach had migrated to his heart. She had done so much for him, for Becky. She had made their wedding possible. Held Becky together in the face of the worst possible news. She had walked their newborn when they were both desperate for sleep. And Control, in his sometime-sinister way, had helped them endlessly as well.

She was leaving, with her battered red trunk, forever. And he was the only one who knew about it. The only one who could stop it.

Scott sat heavily on the arm of the couch. "I loved him," he said. "My father. I loved him, my mother loved him. And it was horrible."

Lily shook her head, not looking at him. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters, or you wouldn't have asked. What was it like, growing up with Robert McCall as my father? It was horrible." Scott took a deep breath. "When he was gone, my mom and I had a life. This simple, complete life, just her and me. We had routines, rules … we were good. Happy. And then he'd come home and he was the head of the household. Very traditional, very strict. With his own rules, his own ideas about how things should run. He never asked us. He just told us how things were going to be. Mom let me stay up until ten on weekends. Robert said I had to go to bed at eight-thirty. I'd fight with him. She'd fight with him. And after a while we just gave up. I'd go to bed when he said, and as soon as he was gone we'd go back to our own way. After a while it was like pretend. He'd come home and we'd pretend he had a place there. That he belonged there.

"And he knew it. And he hated it. We all hated it."

Scott looked at his hands. They were still red from the cold. What would his father say?

Lily stood absolutely still, watching him, listening.

"So he came home less and less," Scott continued. "And when he did show up, he didn't stay as long. Since he wasn't there, I made up things about him. I had this terrific fantasy father who was always there, who listened to me, who understood me. And I had this real father who showed up once in a while and pissed me off and made my mom cry and went away again."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. "I hated him, Lily. I loved him because he was my father, but I hated him for never being there. And for who he was when he was there."

Lily put both hands over her face.

"We got over it," Scott continued quickly. "But it took a long time. A really long time. And there was so much pain, so much resentment – on both sides. By the time he retired from the Company we didn't even know each other." He hesitated. "I know you don't want to hear this. But Control isn't wrong. If he wants to be a real father to your child, this is the only way."

She made no sign, but Scott could see by the way her shoulder shook the Lily was crying again. He stood up and went to her, put his arm around her uneasily. "I know you're scared. You must be scared out of your mind. But he's right." Lily half-turned, and he took the chance to wrap both arms around her. "Would it help if you knew how it turns out?"

She looked up, startled. "What?"

"At our wedding," Scott explained, "Becky had a vision about you. You two. She said that you could have everything you ever wanted. But that it would cost you everything you had."

Lily sniffed, then rubbed her eyes impatiently. "She said that."

"Years ago."

"And you didn't think to pass it on?"

Scott shook his head. "She said you already knew."

She considered this for a long moment. "I suppose we did." She moved out of his arms, looked in dismay at the nearly-empty red trunk. "Damn."

"He'd just come after you anyhow."

"I know." She shook her head. "Scott … I don't know what to do."

That confession was just a little more startling than her tears had been. If Lily Romanov was turning to _him_ for advice, she was in a lot more trouble than she knew. But he'd been right so far. At least she'd stopped packing. "If I know Control," he ventured carefully, "he's probably already working on a plan."

"Of course he is. And he's got your father in on it, too."

"They're really good at what they do, you know."

Lily sighed. It sounded like resignation – and relief. "I know they are."

"So blow your nose and we'll go find them."

She almost smiled. "You're coming, too?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Scott assured her.

* * *

She let Scott drive her Mercedes. If he'd needed any further proof of how miserable she was, it was that she handed over the keys without a word. He drove very carefully. "This is such a sweet car," he said.

"I'll leave it to you," Lily said quietly.

"No. I didn't mean like that. I'm just … trying not to say anything else stupid."

"You haven't said anything stupid."

"Well …"

Lily glanced across at him. "Spill it."

Scott sighed. "It's none of my business. Really."

"But."

"If I … if I was this kid that you're carrying, I mean if I was grown up …" He stopped, started over. "Don't stop at one. Child. If you're going to do all of this for this child, leave everything and everyone, give away your car and everything, don't do it for one child. Because if he ever finds out –"

"He won't," Lily said sharply.

"If he _does_," Scott insisted, "it's much much easier to think, 'they did all of this for me and my brothers and sisters, for our family', than to think 'they did all of this for _me_'. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes." Lily nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Like I said, it's none of my business. Just … something to think about."

"Something you think about," Lily guessed.

Scott sighed. "Yes."

"He loves you, you know."

"I know."

"And he's proud of you."

The young man paused. "I know that, too. But … it took us such a long time to get here."

Lily nodded. "Okay. If I get the chance, I promise, I'll have a dozen kids."

"Half a dozen is probably enough."

"And will you be having a half dozen as well?"

Scott grinned nervously. "Ahhhh … well, maybe one or two more."

"Oh. I see."

"I should have just kept my mouth shut."

Lily put her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. Then she folded her hands in her lap again, and went silent.

* * *

The knock on the door was not soft or reluctant. Robert and Control both looked quickly that direction. It had been the firm, strong knock of a young man, a policeman or an agent. And yet it seemed familiar.

"That's Scott," Robert realized. He stood and went to the door.

It was indeed his son who waited at his door. To Robert's surprise, he had Lily Romanov huddled against his side. She looked very small, very frightened.

"Come in, come in," McCall said. "Scott, I … ah …"

"Becky sent me," Scott answered simply.

"Ah."

Lily finally moved away from him and into the living room. She stood in front of Control silently, her hands at her sides. Helpless.

"Let's, uh, let's get you some coffee," McCall said. He took his son's arm and guided him into the kitchen. It didn't give the couple much privacy or time, but it was all he could offer at the moment. He saw Control stand up and move towards the woman, saw him wrap his arms around her.

When he'd poured a cup for his son and another for Lily, the pot was empty. The two men clumsily set up to brew another; Scott's attempts to be helpful put him largely underfoot, but Robert didn't mind. "She was, uh, packing," Scott said very quietly.

"I'm not surprised," Robert whispered back. "How did you get her to come back here?"

"I told her Control was right. About … being a real father."

McCall glanced over; his son kept his eyes carefully away. "I suppose you know a thing or two about that," he answered sadly, gently.

Scott nodded, still not looking up. "Well, but it's all right now."

"We lost a lot of years. Too many years." He gripped his son's upper arm for a moment, squeezed it gently. There was a time when he could have reached all the way around that arm. Long gone, and he'd missed far too much of it.

Scott covered his hand with his own. "Dad."

"Your hands are frozen. Where are your gloves?"

The boy grinned with exasperation. "I knew you'd say that."

They went back to the living room. Control and Lily were sitting on the couch, close enough to touch, both of her hands lost in one of his, his other arm around her shoulders. Control had been right; the girl was in on the plan now. But she was not happy about it. She seemed weary, resigned.

Beaten.

Robert had an unpleasant flash, a memory from an old Russian novel. At a race track, the hero had just run his horse to death. There were sad, unsurprised head shakes, and someone says, 'He asked too much of her.'

He'd never seen Lily Romanov defeated before. He'd seen her sick, abused, angry, crazed. But never defeated.

He could tell by Control's posture, his eyes, that he felt the same concern. But they had talked half the night, turned over every possibility. There was no other way. No turning back.

Scott sat down in one of the armchairs, warming his hands around his coffee cup. "Okay," he said. "What's the plan?"


	5. Chapter 4

"This is nice," Douglas Tillman said, looking around the restaurant with approval. "Very nice indeed."

"Pete's done quite well with it," McCall agreed. "She's very attentive to detail. It makes a difference."

The doctor pondered a stuffed mushroom, then devoured it. "I hear a small cash infusion was necessary, though."

"Hmm."

"What is it you want, Robert?"

McCall shrugged grandly. "I heard you were in town, I thought I'd take you to dinner."

"Uh-huh."

"You've saved my life on several occasions, Doug. The least I can do …" Robert stopped, because the Company doctor wasn't buying a word of it. "We have a situation. We need your help."

"We."

"Control, actually."

"And?"

"And Lily Romanov."

"Good Lord," Tillman said, "are they still together?"

Robert stared at him. "Are they …?"

"Right, right. Just an old man jumping to conclusions. Go on."

"You always were a keen judge of character, Doug."

"You see enough people dead and dying, you get to read them pretty well. So what's the situation, or do I even need to ask?"

Robert sipped his wine slowly. "From the tone of your question, perhaps you don't."

Tillman shrugged. "Obvious. Almost inevitable. Roll the dice often enough, it's bound to happen."

"Ah." McCall found the doctor's intuitions unnerving. He looked around casually, but there was no one within hearing distance of the table. The low din of the restaurant covered their words. He leaned forward and lowered his voice anyhow. "He wants to retire and start a family."

Tillman sat back in his chair. He put both hands on the table, palms flat on each side of his plate, and drummed his fingers very softly. They were bluish and wrinkled, his fingers, but they were as still as dexterous as they'd been thirty years ago. "Well," he finally said, very slowly. "That is a situation, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I suppose there's a plan."

"Yes."

"And she's going along with it?"

"Reluctantly."

"Hmmm." Tillman's fingers continued to play percussion on the tabletop. "How much time do we have?"

"Not much. The _expansion_ won't be complete until the first of November, but …"

"Oh, yes. Not much camouflage on that one, is there? Been trying to fatten her up for as long as I've known her." He frowned. "That part of the project's going as expected so far?"

Robert nodded. "There was apparently a mild concern, but it's passed."

"Good, good." The doctor leaned forward again and picked up his fork. "All right, then. Tell me what you need."

* * *

James Simms arrived early. He sat in his car for a long time, staring at the ancient little cemetery. There was only one weak yellow light over the front entrance; the rest of the area was shrouded in darkness. Though he could hear traffic noise around him, no cars came down the little side street beyond the fence where he waited.

It was a fine place to dump a body.

It was bitterly cold. The ground was sparkly with frost. Some of the snow from the week before still huddled against the headstones.

Simms looked again at the note. It was on a sheet of red paper, folded in half. Control's paper, Control's precise handwriting. "If you want my job, be here at 9." An address, no signature.

It had been on Simms' desk that afternoon, put there while he went for coffee. On a Saturday, when he hadn't even known Control was in the office. He almost threw up when he saw it. He still wanted to throw up now.

He had been loyal to Control. He had never undercut the man's authority or attempted to take his power. He'd never tried to have him killed. Compared to some of the others, he had been the perfect lieutenant.

He had also watched the man, collected information on him and a woman who might or might not be his lover, but who was definitely his personal assassin. If Control had found out about it …

He was, Simms knew, very likely going to die in this graveyard tonight, and his body would probably never be found. Control was ruthless and efficient when he made his mind up to something.

And yet – if Control intended to kill him, why give him hours to run?

Perhaps there was another explanation. Perhaps the old man just wanted to put a scare into him. If that was case, it had worked brilliantly. Simms wiped his hands on his pants, but his palms were immediately damp with sweat again. He was shaking. Control was up to something, there was no question of that. The only real question was whether Simms would survive it.

Control was not here yet. He had most of a tank of gas and several hundred dollars in cash. He could still run. Put the car in gear and …

… wait until the old wolf tracked him down?

He had told Lily Romanov, not long ago, that he would rather face his death than run from it. She hadn't killed him then. But apparently now his time had run out.

A dark sedan pulled onto the road, its headlights going off even before it rolled to a stop behind his car. As the engine died, Simms swallowed one more time – tasting bitter bile – and got out of his own car. The ground crackled under his feet.

Control was alone. Simms didn't know if that was a good sign or not. He didn't know anything now.

The older man walked towards him slowly. His hands came out of his jacket pockets, and Simms tensed for the gunshot that would follow. Instead, the spymaster produced two cigars. "Smoke?" he offered by way of greeting.

"No," Simms squeaked. He cleared his throat. "No. Thank you."

"Suit yourself." Control put one of the cigars away, took his time about lighting the other. He seemed perfectly relaxed. As if he frequently invited subordinates for a moonlight meeting in the graveyard before he killed them. He paused, puffed smoke and looked around. "Let's go for a walk."

Simms nodded nervously and followed him onto the gravel drive and into the cemetery itself. They paced very slowly, their shoes loud in the cold night. "Control, whatever you've heard …" he began anxiously.

"I haven't heard anything, Simms. Should I have?"

"No. But then I don't …"

Control blew another smoke ring. "James, calm down. I don't plan to kill you here."

"Oh." He didn't liked that added 'here'.

"Of course, plans can change," the older man added wryly.

Simms took a deep breath. "I don't want your job, Control."

"Of course you do. It's what you've worked for since you came to the Company."

"But I don't … I wouldn't go after you to get it."

Control glanced at him. "Why not?" he asked amicably.

"Because you're better than I am and I know I'd end up dead."

The spymaster nodded. "Clever boy. That's exactly the right answer. And that's why I'm giving the job to you."

"What?"

"I'm retiring, James," Control announced without breaking stride. "And I'm giving you my job."

"But … Control _can't_ retire. The only way out is …" Simms paused, gestured to the graves.

"Something you should consider before you accept my offer," Control answered.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am." The man stopped pacing and turned towards him. "I absolutely am. I have had enough. I am going to retire. Going out to pasture. Going to live out the rest of my days in whatever peace and quiet I can find."

"But you _can't_," Simms protested again. "They'll never let you just walk away."

"Of course not."

"But … but …"

"I want you to think very carefully here, son," Control said gravely. "This is your last chance to turn back. Past here, you will either land in my job or in your grave. There are no alternatives."

"I don't understand."

"It's not complicated. I'm leaving. I need your help to do it. In return for that help, I'll see you established as Control. But if you betray me or fail me, I'll kill you. Or someone else will. It's that simple."

Simms passionately wished he'd tossed the rest of his dinner in the bushes before the man had arrived. His stomach roiled as if he'd been sucker-punched. "Control …"

The man gestured, and they walked again, slowly, in silence. There didn't seem to be any hurry now. The traffic in the city grew quieter.

They walked the entire perimeter of the cemetery before Simms spoke. "I'm in."

"Good."

Simms took a deep breath. "Are you taking the girl with you?"

There was the barest hitch in Control's stride. "What girl?"

"Romanov."

The men took ten more steps before the spymaster began to chuckle. "Oh, my clever boy. You have just laid to rest any doubts that I had about you." He clapped his hand on Simms' shoulder with surprising affection. "Clever, clever boy. How long have you known?"

There was no point, Simms decided, in telling him that he hadn't known for sure until that moment. "I started to suspect at the Wall party."

Control sobered. "That long?" he mused. There was a dangerous twinkle in his eye. "You have a file?"

Shit, Simms thought, I'm still going to end up dead. "Yes."

"Good. We may be able to use that."

"We … what?"

"The only way the Company will let me go," Control said seriously, "is if I'm no longer of any use to them at all. So we are going to burn down everything that makes this Control valuable. Everything."

"Then they'll just kill you," Simms answered.

"And that, my boy, is why I need you. In place, and firmly established as Control."

The younger man shook his head. "I'm sorry, I know I should be following this, but I'm just not."

"Don't worry. I'll explain everything. Well, everything you need to know." Control nodded to himself in satisfaction. "And yes, I'm taking the girl with me."

Simms took a very deep breath, trying to clear his head. "All right. Let's start at the top."

* * *

Mickey Kostmayer sat in the cheap seats at the half-full Garden, watching the Knicks kick around the Pistons for a change. He didn't much care about basketball, but the hot dogs were good. As meeting places went, it was way better than anything Control would have picked.

At the start of the second quarter, Lily Romanov dropped into the seat next to him. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Want a dog?"

"Uh … no. I'm good."

Mickey shrugged. "Suit yourself. Stay away from the fries. They're all limp and greasy."

"What the hell is the world coming to?"

"Tell me about it." He devoured half of his third hot dog in two bites. "So?"

Lily picked up his plastic cup full of beer, then put it back untasted. She watched the game intently for a minute. She looked pale, but it was probably just the cold outside.

"Lil?" he prompted. "Please tell me this is not gun trouble again."

"No. But you'd probably like it better it if was."

A vendor wandered through, and Kostmayer flagged him down and bought two soft pretzels. "Want one?"

"No, thanks."

"Wow. Must be serious, if you got no appetite when I'm buying." He smothered the first pretzel with mustard from three tiny plastic packs. "Let's have it."

She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

There was a personal foul on the floor; Mickey stared at the scoreboard and chewed slowly while they set up the free throw. "Well," he finally said. "I already have a wife, but she likes you and she's pretty liberal. Maybe we could all move out to Utah."

"There's an option I had not considered."

Kostmayer took another big bite of pretzel, chewed slowly, wiped the mustard from the corner of his mouth. "Is it _his_?"

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Well, that's where things get ugly."

"Uglier. It's already ugly."

"Yes."

"Hit me."

"He wants to marry me."

Mickey nodded. "That's ugly."

"And retire and run away to the country. Some other country."

"Holy shit."

He needed a minute to wrap his head around this last announcement, and being Lily, she let him take it. She did not ask any questions or press for answers or volunteer any further information. She took the pretzel that had not yet been frosted in mustard and tore a third of it off, then torn off a tiny piece and put it delicately in her mouth.

They watched the game in silence through a time out, another free throw, and a pretty steal. The wheels were beginning to come off the Knicks defense; the Pistons scored, stole the in-bound and scored again. Mickey twisted the idea around in his head. Lily pregnant, fine. Control wanting to marry her was a stretch. Control thinking he could leave the Company … no matter how many times he turned that one over, he came back to the same answer. "Holy shit," he finally said again.

"Yep." She decided the pretzel wasn't poisonous and took a bigger bite.

"Can McCall talk him out of it?"

"McCall talked him into it."

"Holy shit."

They watched another full minute of play. Finally, Mickey stirred. "You gonna do it?"

"We wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"Every time I think too hard about it," Lily said carefully, "I want to throw up." She put the piece of pretzel back in her lap.

"Yeah. I can see why." He finished his hot dog. "So what's the plan?"

"That mean you're in?"

"Of course I'm in. Hell, any chance to get rid of _him_, I'm all over it."

"Love you, Mickey."

"Yeah, yeah. What's the plan?"

* * *

Senator Stovall woke suddenly. He was not alone in his bedroom.

He didn't look around. Instead he scrambled for the gun in the drawer of his bedside table. It was gone.

The bedside lamp snapped on. As Stovall blinked in the sudden brightness, Control stepped to the side of the bed and dropped the gun onto the sheets. "Looking for this?" he asked.

"Control! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you. Confidentially."

"It's the middle of the night!"

"Actually," the spymaster said mildly, "it's nearly six in the morning." He pulled a chair over and sat down beside the bed. "If you're going to sleep this soundly, you really should look into better security."

Stoval scowled at him. The apartment was tiny and hellishly expensive, but it was within walking distance of his office on Capitol Hill. A dozen other congressmen and senators lived in the building; security was tight. He pushed himself upright against the headboard. "I have an office, you know."

"I know." Obviously he wasn't leaving.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I need a favor."

"A favor."

"Yes."

"And you think breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night is the way to get it."

"It's a way we can talk without interruption."

Stovall continued to glare. "I'm not doing you any favors, Control."

"Hmm." Control sat back, crossed his legs, templed his fingers in his lap. "How's your son doing these days? Still saying clean?"

"That was ten years ago."

"Yes."

"He was a boy. A youthful indiscretion."

"Of course. And I'm certain the law firm that just hired him will see it in exactly that light."

"I will not sit here and let you threaten my son, Control."

"And then," the spymaster continued, "there's the whole matter of using Company personnel and resources to get him out of that prison and back to the United States. And the _fees_ that were paid to cover up the whole matter. If you hadn't been on the Intelligence Committee at the time, the whole matter could have been much more unpleasant. Isn't that true, Senator?"

"How dare you? If you think I'm going to compromise my principles because you've threatened to expose …"

"I don't want you to bend anything," Control said simply. "I want you to do your job."

"What?"

"I want you to open an investigation of certain Company activities."

"What kind of activities?"

Control smiled. It made Stovall shiver. "Illicit. Immoral. Illegal. The usual Company medley."

The Senator's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"Because it would be useful to me. And to your re-election bid, I imagine."

"Control …"

"Here." Control dropped a fat envelope onto the bed beside the gun. "Read this. Investigate in your committee. That's all I ask."

"And you'll never mention Robby's problems again?"

"Never."

"I don't believe you."

Control's smile broadened. "You're smarter than your colleagues know." He stood up and put the chair back where it had been. "I was never here, of course."

"Of course," Stovall snarled.

He watched the old spy move to the door of the tiny bedroom. Then Control turned back. "Stovall, time is very short. Start today."

"It's Sunday …"

"Your willing little intern will be delighted to have something new to do."

"I will not have my schedule dictated by …"

"Give my regards to your _wife_," Control said sweetly, with just the right emphasis.

Stovall reached for the gun, but the door was already closing. He put the weapon back in the drawer and closed it thoughtfully. Then he checked the clock; it was 5:48. He glared at it. Then he picked up the envelope and began to read.


	6. Chapter 5

"Morning, Munchie."

The mailroom clerk wheeled his chair around. "Hey, Lily, how are you? Nothing but smiles this morning, huh? Awful cheerfully for a Monday."

"Three more weeks," she answered warmly. "Two more Mondays after this one." She held out a bakery bag to him. "Donuts."

"You're gonna make me too fat to get through the door," he protested, but he wheeled closer to the door and took the bag. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Hey, I've got to spoil you while I can."

Munchie put down the bag and reached up to get her mail for her. There was an ominous red sheet on the top of the stack, folded in half. "Uh-oh," he said.

"Just paperwork," Lily said confidently. She reached over the door for the stack and unfolded the paper. Her smile faded.

"Lil?"

"Oh, fuck no," she said emphatically. "They can't do this to me."

"You okay, kid?"

"I'm gonna kill him," Lily announced. She dropped her mail back on the counter, all but the red paper, and hurried down the hall. "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

* * *

"He's in a meet—" Sue began.

"I don't care." Lily Romanov stormed past her and into Control's office. "What the hell is this?" she demanded, waving the red paper.

The spymaster was sitting at one end of his coffee table, with his lieutenants on long couches on each side of him. He paused in mid-assignment and looked at her calmly. "I believe it's self-explanatory, Miss Romanov."

"What do you mean I can't resign?" she shouted. "This has been in the works for months. Why can't I quit?"

"It was decided higher up the chain," Control answered calmly.

"I want out. I'm getting out. You've got to get me out."

"I argued your case as well as I could."

"Then go back," Lily said, "and argue it better." She dropped the red paper onto the coffee table. "Because I'm done busting my ass for this Company. I quit. You gotta fix this."

"I will fix it," Control assured her calmly. "It may take a little time."

"But you'll get me out?"

"I'll take care of it," he said again. "But you'll need to be patient."

"I already gave you six months."

"It was an unexpected development."

"But you'll fix it? You won't blow it off?"

"Miss Romanov," he said with strained patience, "take the day off. Be back at your desk in the morning. We'll work this out."

"You owe me, you know," she said darkly.

He looked up at her, with a glare that would have made several of his lieutenants flee. "We'll talk tomorrow," he repeated firmly. "Take the day off. Be back in the morning."

She stared back at him for a second, enough to let him know she wasn't willing to let him know she was intimidated. Then she spun and headed for the door. "I'm not coming back."

"Romanov!" Control did not shout, but he projected his voice with enough force to stop her in her tracks. She did not turn around. "Do not make us come looking for you. Go. Blow off some steam. Get drunk if you want. But be back at your desk tomorrow morning."

She stood for perhaps ten seconds, with her back to him, stubbornly refusing to turn. Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Uneasily, Simms said, "Control, she's …"

Control raised one hand. "Jason Masur made the decision. I don't know that there's much I can do about it."

"If she doesn't come back …"

"We'll give her a week."

"And then?"

Control shook his head. "And then we'll bring her in." He picked up the red paper and tucked it under a folder. "Let's get back to work."

* * *

Shortly after four p.m., Control's private line rang. He snagged it without looking away from the report in front of him. "Yes?"

"What the hell did you do to Stovall?" Olford demanded.

"Director?"

"Senator Stovall. What did you do?"

"I have no idea," Control lied calmly. "I didn't even see him during the budget meetings."

"Well he's got a big burr in his ass about you all the sudden. He wants to open Committee investigations into certain Company 'improprieties'."

"Is that what we're calling them these days?"

"It's not funny, Control! I don't need this right now. I'm fighting tooth and nail for every dime in the budget as it is."

Control smiled to himself. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what I might have done to antagonize him."

Olford sighed heavily. "I'll try to divert him. But if the Committee gets their teeth into this … you'd better be ready to come back to D.C. And you'd better have a good story when you get here."

"I shall have my stories ready, sir," Control promised.

"Smart ass." The Director hung up on him.

Control continued to smile as he put his phone down.

* * *

Later, Simms would report that on Tuesday Lily Romanov wandered into the office at 10 a.m., sat at her desk and read the _New York Times_ from front to back. Then she got out a pen and started working the crossword.

At eleven-thirty, she was summoned to Control's office. Their conversation, behind a closed door, lasted only a few minutes. She left without a word and continued with to work on her crossword puzzle.

Several other employees spoke to her about her employment situation. She told each of them that she couldn't discuss it. At twelve-thirty, Mickey Kostmayer came in and made his way to her cubicle. They spoke briefly, with expletives, and then went to lunch. Neither of them returned to the office that day.

On Wednesday, Romanov called in sick.

On Thursday morning, she arrived at nine forty-five. On Friday, it was ten-thirty.

"She's just playing solitaire on her computer," Simms told Control. "Should I say something?"

"Leave her be," Control advised. "She's still angry. She has cause."

"Are you going to be able to fix it?"

"I don't know. I have one idea. We'll see if it flies."

Simms had been going to ask what the plan was, but then the phone rang and the shit hit the fan.

* * *

"Why Romanov?" Russo wondered out loud.

"They know her," Simms ventured. "She met with the Intelligence Committee several years ago about Balkan issues."

"Maybe this whole resignation thing came across their desks," DeWitt suggested.

"And maybe she fed them all this information in the first place," Control snarled. He opened his door and barked, "Sue! Get Romanov up here."

He shut the door loudly before she could answer.

"You think she's pushing this investigation?" Simms asked.

Control paced the room, reading over the summary of the Committee's questions again. "She's involved with everything they're asking about," he said. "She's highly knowledgeable and deeply disgruntled. And as you say, she's met with them before. And they liked her."

The lieutenants fell silent. Simms could almost hear their thoughts. It seemed so unlikely that Lily Romanov – always smiling, always pleasant, and intensely loyal to Control – could have turned over information on their activities to the Intelligence Committee. But on the other hand, she was deeply angry and they all knew it.

"The other possibility," Control added, at length, "is that we're supposed to think Romanov's setting us up." He paused, looked at them. "Jason Masur was very probably involved in Walker's attempts to have me killed last year. Romanov ultimately saved my life. He may harbor some resentment about that."

"You think he's trying to divide and conquer," Simms said.

"He is the one who denied her resignation, for no particular reason. And the one who continues to block it."

There was a sharp knock on the door. Romanov walked in before they could answer.

She looked around the room, all the lieutenants arranged around the conference room table. "If this is a surprise retirement party, you forgot the cake."

"Sit down," Control said. She dropped into the empty chair at the end of the table. "When was the last time you spoke to Senator Stovall?"

"When I got his son out of … no, that's not right. At that Committee meeting about the Balkans."

"Not recently?"

"No."

Control looked at Lisinger. "Check her phone records."

Lily chuckled. "Check your own. If I was going to call a senator and lie about it, I wouldn't do it from my phone."

He stared at her. "Check her records," he said again. "And then check mine. And yours."

"Yes, sir." Lisinger left the room.

"What's going on?" Romanov asked.

Control dropped his paper in front of her. "Stovall and the Committee are investigating certain Company operations."

"Oh, good."

"Very specific operations. All of them involving you."

She looked at the paper. She looked at Control. She shrugged. "I haven't spoken to him."

"Well, you're going to now. Buy a suit and pack your bag. You're going to Washington."

"To talk to the Committee."

"To _testify_ before the Committee, under oath."

"Excellent," she said. "I have so many things I want to say to them."

"You will say exactly what I tell you to say and nothing more."

Romanov looked at him, one eyebrow cocked in question. She seemed amused.

"We'll provide you with legal counsel," Simms said, trying to diffuse the tension. "We'll review your testimony over the weekend, and you'll appear on Tuesday."

She sighed. "Whatever. I'm putting in for overtime."

"Miss Romanov," Control said with exaggerated patience, "perhaps you're not clear on the seriousness of this inquiry. Our ass is in the crack on this, and you're as complicit as any of us."

"Just following orders, sir."

"I will resolve your separation issue when I can," he continued, "but at the moment I do not have time for your disgruntled employee act."

"It's not an act, believe me."

"You would do well to remember that I do not tolerate disloyalty. Even from you."

Lily stood up. "I'm facing the reality that I'll be working for this Company until the day I die. So that really isn't the threat you probably intend it to be."

* * *

"His name is Frank Donovan," Tillman said quietly as they walked down the dim corridor Monday morning. "He's not an exact match, of course, but he's close enough."

Robert McCall sighed. "Close enough will have to do." He left his mouth slightly open and breathed through it, rather than his nose. The smell in this place, more piss than antiseptic, with a garden of unsavory undertones, jangled his emotions as much as his nerves. If this went wrong, he and his friends would be lucky to end their days in an oppressive place like this.

But more likely, they would end their days very swiftly and rot in a shallow grave. It seemed preferable.

"You're sure he has no family?" McCall asked.

"Positive. His parents are long dead. His wife died ten years ago, and his only daughter last fall. He's retired from the Army, did fifteen years in a factory."

"And have you asked him?"

"Hell, no, McCall. That's your department."

"Thank you so much. You worked very quickly on this."

"Time is of the essence. You swear this man will come to no harm?"

"As far as I am able, I swear it."

They turned down a smaller corridor. There were ten doors here, six of them closed. The first was open, revealing a small private room, a hospital bed, a steel wardrobe and very little else. The bed was empty; the room was dim and blue and the smell of its last occupant still lingered.

There was, in McCall's view, very little on earth more depressing than a veteran's hospital.

"I put him in a private room," Doc announced. "Best I could do for you."

"Thank you," Robert repeated, this time sincerely.

He stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. "Mr. Donovan?"

The man was propped up in his bed. The left side of his face drooped badly, and his left arm was arranged across his lap, limp and clearly useless. His hair was clean-cut, short and gray, and his eyes were starkly blue. He was tall and slender, his nose sharp and beak-like, his jaw pronounced under a bad shave.

Side by side, the differences would be plain. But given a verbal description … McCall nodded slightly. He would do.

The man continued to stare at him. "You look like a spook," he growled. His speech slurred ever so slightly; he gave his diction deliberate attention.

"Retired," Robert answered.

"Uh-huh. What do you want?"

McCall moved closer to the bed and lowered his voice. "I have a proposition for you, Mr. Donovan."

The man snorted. "For me."

"Yes."

"Retired spook turned con artist. You're wasting your time. If I had any money for you to steal, I sure as hell wouldn't be in this place."

"I'm not after your money, Mr. Donovan."

"Then what do you want?"

Robert considered. "Your body."

"I'm not done with it yet." The man spoke casually, and yet the portions of his body that he still controlled tensed. He was half-crippled, but he was still prepared to put up any fight he could.

Robert shook his head. "Please, Mr. Donovan, I mean you no harm, I assure you. Hear me out, and if you're not interested, I will leave and never bother you again."

"I was in the army more than twenty years," Donovan answered, without relaxing a wit. "Every time a spook offered me a deal, I got screwed."

"I don't doubt it." McCall waited. He knew this sort of man. There was nothing to be gained by rushing him. He would agree, or not agree, entirely on the merits of the proposition. And he would make up his own mind.

After a very long moment, the man nodded. "All right. Let's hear your pitch."'


	7. Chapter 6

The Company sent their best attorneys, Seth Hall and Eugene Driver, to sit on either side of Lily Romanov in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Control sat directly behind her. But the Senators only had eyes for the woman.

"You understand," Senator Coleman said, by way of introduction, "you're under oath. If you lie to us, we can send you to jail."

"I understand." Lily looked small in the big wooden chair, a little lost in her severe black suit.

Coleman stared at her a moment more, then turned to Stovall. "Senator?"

The junior senator sat up straighter and leaned towards his microphone. "Miss Romanov," he said warmly, "good morning."

"Good morning."

"I don't want you to have any misunderstanding about why we've asked you to testify here today. This isn't a witch hunt. We aren't looking to pin anything on you. As far as I can ascertain from your admittedly sketchy employment records, you've been …"

Seth Hall protested quickly. "Senator, you've been provided with Miss Romanov's complete employment history."

"Of course I have. And these lengthy gaps between assignments …"

"That material is classified to the highest level."

"Of course." Stovall scowled. "In any case, Miss Romanov, we aren't trying to get you in trouble. We're just trying to learn the facts. There's been a disturbing pattern of behaviors, failures in our intelligence community, and it's our job to find out why. Do you understand?"

"You want me to help you nail my superiors," Lily said calmly.

Her attorneys both moved to shush her, but Stovall nodded. "Baldy put, but essentially accurate. And you _are_ under oath."

"I got that the first time, Senator."

Eugene Driver put his hand on her arm on the table. She drew away from him.

"Very well," Stovall went on. "What can you tell me about Gustav Freda?"

Lily paused, then turned to look over her shoulder to Control. He nodded. She turned back around. "Gustav Freda was a political prisoner in Pristina prior to the collapse of the Soviet Bloc. We were able to arrange his release and transport him into the West."

"He was an old man."

"Yes."

"What was his importance?"

"He had been as asset – a source of information – for our agents prior to his arrest."

"We know what an asset is, thank you. And that was all?" the Senator asked.

Lily looked to Control again for guidance, and again he nodded.

"Miss Romanov," Coleman snapped, "you will answer all of our questions whether Control wants you to or not. Stop looking at him for permission. He has no authority to stop you from telling us the truth."

"Yes, sir," Lily said flatly, unconvinced. "Freda was in possession of certain intelligence that was still relevant to Western interests."

"He was in fact in possession of the location of several nuclear devices," Stovall clarified. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you brought him back to the West."

"I was part of the operation, yes."

"And then what happened?"

Lily looked confused. "And then … the devices were recovered safely."

"By whom?"

"By Western intelligence agencies."

"By U.S. agencies? By the agency you work for?"

She took a long breath. "No, sir."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last answer."

Lily glanced at each of her lawyers, but not back to Control. "Mr. Freda was taken into custody by British authorities, and they were given the location of the nuclear devices."

"Robert McCall was involved in this mission."

"Yes, sir."

"Did he recommend that Mr. Freda be turned over to the British?"

"No, sir."

"In fact, he protested quite strongly when Mr. Freda was taken from your custody, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did the British authorities know that they wanted custody of Gustav Freda?"

"I …"

"I remind you, Miss Romanov, that you are under oath. Gustav Freda had information vital to the national security interests to the United States. How did the British find out about him?"

She ignored the Senator's earlier instructions, turned completely around and looked straight at Control. He hesitated, then gestured to her attorneys. Lily snapped back around and the three huddled. After a brief conversation, they all sat back. "I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

A ripple of surprise ran through the Committee; only Stovall seemed to expect this answer. "I see. That is within your rights, Miss Romanov, but I repeat that this Committee is not seeking any criminal prosecution against _you_."

The woman looked at him without speaking.

"Very well," the Senator said. "Did Control make the arrangements to give Freda into British custody?"

"I … refuse to answer that question."

"On the grounds that you may incriminate yourself?"

"On the grounds that my answer could get me killed."

Against the Committee rustled with surprise; Lily's attorney's also leaned into an urgent conference with her.

"Miss Romanov, would you like us to have Control removed from the proceedings?"

"It wouldn't make any difference," she said. "If you think I'm going to give you Control, Senator, you're wrong."

"We can have you jailed for contempt."

"Perhaps."

"Or we can promise you protection from retaliation in exchange for your full and honest testimony."

The lawyers leaned; Romanov waved them off. "With all due respect, Senator, this government has made me promises before, and not kept them."

Stovall sighed. "Let's move on. What do you know about an aid warehouse on the north side of Sarajevo that was ransacked in 1993?"

Lily leaned forward, seemed to relax. "We received a tip that the warehouse was being used to house weapons. We broke in, checked it, found no weapons, so we left. Apparently refugees from a nearby camp cleaned out all the food after our departure. We had nothing to do with that."

"You broke the lock to check the warehouse?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you left it unlocked."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think there was some chance the refugees would help themselves to the food?"

Lily shook her head. "Honestly, sir, we didn't care. The entire area was under intermittent sniper fire. We got in and we got out."

"You didn't care about the property of a government-permitted aid organization?"

"As long as they weren't shooting at us … no, sir. The food was for refugees. The refugees were starving. We didn't see a conflict."

Stovall smiled tightly. "But they were shooting at you, weren't they, Miss Romanov?"

She tensed. "Not the aid group, nor the refugees."

"The snipers. Weren't you in fact hit by a sniper's bullet while you were opening the warehouse?"

Romanov froze for a moment, but she did not look for help. "Yes, sir."

"And didn't you intentionally draw the fire of the sniper, so that other members of your team could locate and eliminate him?"

"I was wearing a vest …"

"You suffered rather significant injury."

"I fell badly. It was the only way we could check the warehouse."

"For weapons."

"Yes, sir."

"And that's the only reason you broke into that warehouse. To check for weapons. Not to assist the starving refugees."

She looked at him for a very long moment.

"Miss Romanov?"

"I refuse to answer," she said slowly, "on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

"Was Control aware of the operation?"

"I refuse to answer …"

"Did he know the true reason for the raid?"

"I refuse to answer …"

"Did he authorize you to neutralize the sniper and give that food to the refugees?"

"I refuse to answer …"

"Right, right." Stovall consulted his notes. "Tell me about Denis Belanov."

She turned around to look at Control again.

"Miss Romanov!" Coleman said sharply.

"I am not catching this bullet for you," she said very quietly. Her voice carried in the silent room. Control stared at her, finally shrugged.

She turned back around. "Denis Belanov," Stovall prompted.

"He was the station chief for Russian intelligence in Sarajevo," Romanov answered promptly.

"And?"

"And he was an asset for us."

"The seven of clubs. That's how you referred to him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how did he die?"

Lily licked her lips and spoke very carefully. "He was shot to death while in the act of raping a ten year old local girl."

"Did you shoot him?"

She sat back and considered. "I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

"Did Control order the shooting?"

This time she didn't bother to refuse. She simply remained silent.

"Did you have ordered, prior to the shooting, to assassinate Denis Belanov? Was is an authorized kill?"

Hall, the attorney, spoke up. "It is against the policies of the United States government to authorize any …"

"He didn't ask what the policy was," Coleman snapped. "He asked if Control authorized the shoot."

Romanov said, very precisely, "I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

Stovall rubbed his eyes. Then he leaned over to whisper to Coleman. The Chairman listened, then summoned the other Senators into the small conference. In two minutes, they turned back to their witness.

"Miss Romanov," Coleman announced, "this Committee is prepared to grant you blanket immunity from any prosecution resulting from your testimony here. You are therefore required to testify to the full extent of your knowledge about these matters."

Control leaned forward quickly and spoke to Driver. The attorney nodded and stood up. "We want it in writing."

"You what?"

"We want the deal in writing, and we want time to review it."

"It's a standard immunity offer …"

"It is within our rights to request it in writing."

Coleman shook his head. "Fine, fine. We'll draw it up, you'll have it by the end of the day. We'll reconvene tomorrow at ten." He stood up. "But I warn you," he said sternly, "if anything happens to this young lady, if she vanishes or has a tragic car accident or gets suddenly transferred to Siberia – if so much as a hair on her head gets mussed between now and then, there will be hell to pay. Am I clear?"

"Clear, sir."

The Senator tapped his gavel on the desk. "We're adjourned."

As they filed out, the courier turned once again to Control. "What the hell are you …"

"Don't worry," he rumbled. "I have a plan."


	8. Chapter 7

They waited in the quiet courtroom, surrounded by empty uncomfortable chairs, fine heavy woodwork, and dusty echoes.

The judge stayed behind his bench, sorting papers and signing documents. Kostmayer leaned against the wall next to the court's main door. Control stood at the window, watching the traffic two floors below. McCall paced the center aisle like a caged tiger looking for dinner. Every time he made the turn at the bench, he looked at the grand clock that hung over the courtroom door. "Where the devil is she?" he finally demanded.

Control glanced over. "She's a woman, Robert. She'll be here when she's damn good and ready."

"You're very calm about all of this," McCall snapped accusingly.

His old friend shrugged. "Never been so sure of anything in my life."

"He's in shock," the judge opined without looking up.

"And well he should be," Robert snarled. "Of all the ill-considered, scatter-brained ideas …"

Kostmayer stood upright. "I'll go check on her." He went before the old spooks' argument got any worse.

* * *

His sneakers were silent on the bare wood floor. Worn, well-maintained wood benches lined each wall, but they were empty. The courts had adjourned for the day hours before. Five doors down was the door to the ladies room. Mickey knocked lightly and went in.

There was a small lounge before the actual facilities. Lily Romanov was sitting on the long counter, still dressed in a formal black suit, her back to the mirror and her high-heel clad feet stretched undecorously out in front of her. Her face was absolutely blank.

"Hey," Mickey said, "you ready?"

Lily shook her head. "Haven't found the back door yet."

"Down the hall to the left. Staircase to the back door. C'mon, I'll show you."

"Not what I meant."

Mickey considered for a moment. Then he hopped up on the counter and sat next to her. "I'm not used to seeing you scared, Lil. It's not too late to back out of this."

"Yes, it is. And I don't want to. I just … need a second exit."

"Talk to me."

Lily sighed, remained silent. Kostmayer took her hand. "Hey. You put my marriage together. Let me help."

"This is different."

"Tell me."

Still she hesitated. Finally, gripping his hand tighter, she said, "All my life, I never wanted anything. I never tried to – to hold on to anything. That let me be fearless."

"You had nothing to lose."

"Until him. And he was …" Lily hesitated, editing details for Mickey's benefit. "I let myself want him. I let myself think … but I always kept the safe out. I always figured that if I lost him, I could just … just …"

"Kill yourself," Mickey guessed grimly.

"Yes."

Kostmayer shook his head in disgust. "You have some serious issues, you know that?"

"Yes."

"He's not worth that."

"He is to me."

"You need professional help."

Lily glanced at him. "Yeah. That's why I'm telling you."

Mickey growled. He'd known some smart people to make some pretty dumb choices in his time. He'd thought Lily's relationship with Control was idiotic – and dangerous – from the minute he learned about it. But he'd had no idea how bad it really was.

It infuriated him, that she could be so devoted to a man so clearly unworthy …

Of course, the same might have been said about Anne Keller Kostmayer.

Mickey sighed. Whatever his feelings on the matter, it wasn't his choice. "Stupid," he pronounced. "Go on."

Lily shrugged. "Now that door's closed." She brushed her hand over her still-flat stomach. "All I can see is this going wrong, him dying and me being forced to go on without him and I _can't_, Mickey. I can't do it."

"This child isn't enough to live for?"

"This child is the size of my pinkie finger. I don't know. My whole life, looking at this child and seeing _him_ and not … and not …" Her voice cracked and she fell silent.

Her hand was practically crushing Mickey's.

"You're borrowing a hell of a lot of trouble, you know that? All this stuff you're afraid of, none of it may ever happen."

"Always anticipate the worst possible outcome," Lily quoted, "and prepare for it. But I can't see how."

Mickey considered for a long, long moment. "I still think it's idiotic. But I can make you another exit."

Lily looked at him skeptically. "How?"

"If we lose Control," Kostmayer began, picking his words with great care, "you stay under, you have this baby, you raise him for a year. And when he's a year old, if you still think you can't go on … then Annie and I will take the baby and you can … go."

She blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Scout's honor."

"Yeah, right."

Mickey shrugged. "You'll never do it. I know you. If you raise this kid for a year, there's no way you'll leave him. But if you need the illusion of an exit, there it is."

"You're serious."

"Yes."

"You promise?"

"Don't push it, Romanov. I was against this whole thing from the gate."

Lily's eyes filled with tears. "I know you were, and you have been such a good friend to me …"

"Yeah, okay, let's not get all mushy about this. Let's just get it over with."

She sniffed obediently. "I guess we better."

Mickey released her hand, rubbed his to get some circulation back, and slid to his feet. He helped Lily down and waited while she dabbed at her eyes. She sniffed again, and he brought her a paper towel to blow her nose while she checked her make-up, smoothed her skirt. She did one last mirror check, then reached for his hand again.

In the corridor, she hesitated one last time. "That way," Mickey pointed down the corridor, away from the courtroom. "Down the steps, out the back door."

Lily considered, then sighed. "No."

Kostmayer shrugged. "It's your funeral." Then, quickly, "Sorry. Poor choice of words."

"But probably accurate." She tucked her arm through his. "C'mon, you can do the aisle thing."

Mickey sighed. "You just need me to hold you up."

"Uh-huh."

They turned right and walked slowly back to the courtroom.

* * *

McCall was at the far end of his pacing route, near the bench. He watched their approach with obvious relief and a little impatience. But when Control turned and looked at Lily, the emotion on his face, just for an instant, was so bare, so raw, that Mickey looked away, embarrassed at having intruded.

He heard Lily's breath catch, felt her tremble on his arm. "Easy," he murmured, but he doubted she heard him. Control had moved to the center of the court, in front of the bench with Robert. He reached one hand out to her. And Lily stepped away from Mickey to take it.

He drew her very close, though he still held only her hand, bent his head to murmur something in her ear. She nodded, looked up and for the first time smiled.

Mickey glanced at McCall. They shared a look, both thinking the same thing. For what was supposed to be a simple civil ceremony, there was a huge amount of emotion going on.

The judge looked up. "Ready?"

"Not quite," Control rumbled.

He led the woman to one of the long tables and flipped open a manila folder. Lily glanced at the single typewritten sheet, then back at him. "I suppose I wrote a lovely letter."

Control shook his head. "Terse, to the point. Not as good as your first one. No time for poetry." He handed her a pen. Lily didn't hesitate; she signed her resignation letter and handed the pen back.

They turned back to the bench. "Ready," Control announced.

The judge held up one finger while he finished with his paper. Then he looked up. "License?"

Control produced it. The judge looked it over quickly. "Miss Romanov?" he asked, looking up. "You're over eighteen, I presume."

"A ways, yes."

"You're not currently married? No pending or existing decree of divorce?"

"No."

"No mental conditions that would preclude your entering into this marriage?"

Lily hesitated. "Well … no."

The judge glanced up at her again, then back down. "You are not related by blood to this man closer than second cousin?"

"No."

"No other circumstances that that would preclude or encumber this legal event?"

"No."

He looked up again, studied her for a moment. "You want to be married to this man?" He gestured his head toward Control.

Again she hesitated. Then she shrugged, smiled. "Oh, why not?"

The judge shrugged back. "Why not?" He turned his gaze to Control. "Mr., uh … is John Smith your legal name?"

"Among others, yes."

"All right, Mr. Smith …"

"In order," Control answered, "yes, no, no, no, no, and yes."

The judge scribbled on the document. "You have witnesses," he observed. "Objections, gentlemen?"

Mickey and Robert shared a look. "Well …" McCall began.

"Robert," Control growled warningly.

"Ah," McCall smiled, "no, never mind."

The judge finished his marking, flipped the document around and held his pen out to Lily. "Sign here," he pointed. She stood on the little step in front of the bench and signed. "You," he said, gesturing to Control, "here." Control signed. Robert and Mickey signed as directed.

The judge took the document back and scribbled his own signature. He pulled out the center copy and handed it to Control. "There you go. It'll be officially filed first thing in the morning."

"Thank you." Control put the document carefully in the folder with Lily's resignation letter.

"You have something for me," the judge prompted.

Control drew a slender envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it up. The judge took it carefully, as if it might burn him – which, in the wrong hands, it would have. The document would have destroyed his career if had even seen the light of day.

Control had been holding it over his head for ten years.

"Thank you so much," the judge said. He pocketed the envelope and stood up.

"Hey, wait," Kostmayer protested. "That's it?"

"Formalities," the judge said indifferently. "You have rings?"

"No," Lily said, even as Control brought a jewelry box out of his seemingly bottomless jacket pocket. "Or, maybe we do," she amended. He snapped the box open to reveal plain gold bands, his and hers.

The judge simply gestured and watched without comment as they put the rings on each other's hands. Then he sighed. "By the authority vested in me by the Commonwealth of Virginia and the County of Fairfax, I pronounce you husband and wife." He picked up his gavel and rapped the block softly. "The kissing," he informed them, "is actually optional."

"No, it's not," Robert insisted.

Grinning, but tentative, Control leaned and gave his newly minter wife a peck on the mouth.

Mickey snorted. "You can do better than that."

Control ignored him, turned his attention back to the judge. "If anyone asks …"

"You were never here, I know."

"No," Control corrected firmly, "we _were_ here, and we were legally married in your courtroom."

The judge shrugged, mildly surprised. "Whatever you say. Can I go home now? My wife asked a lot of questions if I'm late."

"And well she should," Control answered, with a significant gesture toward the documents he'd just turned over. "Thank you, Judge." He turned back to the others. "Gentlemen, thank you for your assistance." He held his hand out to Lily. "Mrs. Smith," he said with a sardonic smile, "shall we?"

She took his hand. "Oh, why not?"

The four of them made their way out of the courtroom and down the hall to the elevators. "I must say," McCall groused as the doors closed, "that was the most unromantic, unsatisfactory wedding I have ever had the misfortune to …"

Kostmayer cleared his throat discretely.

Robert glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Control and his new wife were kissing. It was most definitely not the sort of kissing normally seen in public, except perhaps between young teens. McCall faced the front of the elevator resolutely. "Oh."

The elevator stopped, and Robert was aware that the bodies behind him came up for air.

"You need to get a room," Mickey muttered.

"Got one, thanks," Control answered cheerfully.

Lily just threw her head back and laughed.

* * *

In the morning, before the Senate Committee again, Romanov did not speak. Her attorney, Hall, spoke for her. "Miss Romanov respectfully declines to answer any further questions from the Committee."

"We've grated Miss Romanov full immunity," Coleman said. "If she refuses to answer our questions, we'll have her jailed for contempt."

"Miss Romanov is not refusing to answer under her Fifth Amendment rights, sir."

"Then what the hell is she claiming?"

"Marital communication privilege, sir."

"What?"

"Miss Romanov and Mr. Smith – known to this committee as Control – were married last night. Miss Romanov cannot be compelled to testify against her husband."

"This is outrageous!" Stovall shouted. "This is a blatant and obvious attempt to circumvent the investigation of the Committee …"

"Nevertheless, there is significant precedent …"

"Bullshit!" Coleman bellowed. "Control, you have done some damned despicable things in your time, but this takes the cake. Do you honestly expect us to believe that you mean to remain married to this young woman?"

Control smiled softly. "I expect to remain married to her, Senator, at least as long as you remained married to your fourth wife."

Coleman glared at him. That marriage, little-known and quickly hushed, had lasted twenty-one days and cost him a small fortune.

"This is a mockery," Stovall rejoined. "You mock the institution of marriage and the oversight function of this Committee."

Senator Henderson, a junior Senator who had been silent until then, said, "There is significant legal question as to whether martial communication privilege can be claimed when the marriage took place subsequent to the events in question."

"There is significant question," Driver agreed, "and we are willing to dispute that question all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary. It is our position that the sanctity and preservation of this marriage supercedes any fact-finding impulse of this Committee."

"You son of a bitch," Coleman said, to Control. "Young lady, do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?"

Lily looked at him calmly. "I know that I've gotten myself _out_ of the Company finally."

The bickered and they argued and they swore, but the Committee could not get any additional answers out of the courier, nor any other representative from the Company. In the end, with dire warnings and expressions of disappointment, they sent them from the room.

Control sat on one of the benches in the hallway, drew out his portable phone, and called Olford to try to explain what he'd done.


	9. Chapter 8

For all the years they'd been together, it had been secret. It was with unexpected anxiety that Control finally led Lily to the door of his penthouse apartment.

There were, as always, invisible watchers outside his door. He glanced up at the hidden camera as he unlocked the door. He could almost hear them gossiping in their secret booth. Let them talk. It served his purpose.

He pushed the door open and stood back, gesturing for Lily to go first. She looked at him. "If you're waiting for me to carry you across the threshold, you're going to get old out here." He glanced once more at the camera and smirked.

Lily Romanov stepped cautiously into his home.

Control was already grinning as he closed the door behind him. There was no surveillance beyond the door; he made certain of that on a regular basis. "Well?"

She stared at the living room that stretched in front of her. "It's so … so …"

"Yes?" He watched her with a mixture of amusement and apprehension.

"So _white_."

"Yes. It makes it easy to match things." He looked at the room as she was seeing it, for the first time. It was stark, cold. Sterile. It looked like an expensive hotel room, or a model house. It most definitely did not look like anyone lived there.

The truth was, he spent very little time in this penthouse. When he did, it was generally to shower, sleep, or change.

And now his wife – his _wife_ – was there with him.

She was completely speechless.

"Want to see the rest of it?"

"It's _white_."

"Yes. I know."

Lily finally managed to turn and look at him. "After all the crap you gave me about my apartment – you have to paint it, decorate it, you have to make it a real home – and you live _here_?"

Control shook his head. "No. I live where you are, in the times and the places where we are together."

"You are so full of shit. Is it all white?"

He grinned. "Mostly."

"Let's see it." She dropped her bag – incongruously dark red – onto the white carpet, slipped off her shoes and tip-toed across the room. "How do you keep it this clean?"

"I'm never here."

He showed her the kitchen and the guest bathroom. Both were filled with white, fixtures and towels and floors. Then the den, which had a big television in standard black, and a cream-colored leather couch. "They don't come in white," he explained. "Not a decent one."

"Oh."

There were two spare bedrooms, one dead empty, one with a computer in a white cabinet. There was the master bedroom, entirely white. And the master bath, also white.

Lily stared around the rooms of his home. Then she stared at him again. "It's white."

"I've noticed."

"Why is it white?"

Control frowned. "I'm not sure. The carpet was white when I moved in. It was easy to match."

"When did you move in?"

He calculated in his head. "Fifteen years ago."

"And it never occurred to you to paint a wall or hang a picture or buy a throw rug?"

He shook his head. "No."

She paced back into the living room. "If you had showed me a picture of this place, I never would have guessed it was yours. Not in a million years." Her eyes narrowed. "What else don't I know about you?"

"Oh, many things," Control admitted. "But I'm sure you'll learn them all, in time."

Lily's eyes darkened. He could feel her thought. _If we have time_.

He crossed the room and kissed her fiercely. "We'll have time," he promised. "We'll have a home, and I'll paint it any color you like."

"Will you paint monkeys?" she asked quietly.

"I'll paint you a whole jungle. In the nursery. I'll have to work on the giraffes, though. I always get the necks too long." He kissed her again. "Don't. Don't fret. We're almost there."

She coiled in his arms, sheltering against him. "I thought it would amuse you," he said quietly. "All this white."

"It's sort of … sad."

"It's not sad now. You're here with me."

_For the moment. For a few precious days._

"It does have an upside," Control remembered. "You haven't seen the best part yet." He led her over to the white-draped windows that lined the room and drew one back.

Below them, the city sparkled and bustled and glittered for as far as they could see.

"Wow," Lily breathed.

"Yes."

They stood together for a moment and admired it. The city was theirs; they were its secret king and queen.

For the moment. For a few more precious moments.

* * *

"Director," Jason Masur said first thing in the morning, "Control is completely out of … control."

Olford glanced at him as he continued to stride down the hall. "How so?"

"This courier, Romanov. I specifically disallowed her resignation and Control …"

"Married her."

Masur stopped dead, then hurried to catch up. "He _what_?"

"She was allowed to resign because she's now Control's spouse."

"But …why?"

"To prevent her from testifying to the Intelligence Committee."

"Why didn't he just kill her?" Jason blurted.

Olford looked at him sidelong. "Assassination is not the solution to every problem, Masur. And when a group of Senators is interested in a particular person, it distresses them if that person suddenly comes down with a bad case of dead. They ask questions. Sometimes more questions than they were asking in the first place."

"But …" Masur sputtered again. Two passing agents stared at him, and he tried to pull himself together. "But did you know about this? This whole marriage thing?"

Olford glanced at him again. "Nothing goes on in this Company, Masur, that I don't know about. _Nothing_." He turned the corner into his office.

Jason stayed in the hall, staring after him. Gradually, the bewildered look on his face was replaced by one of contempt. "You think so, Director?" he said under his breath. "I think you're dead wrong."

* * *

Control was absolutely certain that the rumors had already started by morning. Romanov had flown back to New York first class, in the seat next to him, and spent the night in his apartment. That would only have added to the rumors coming out of D.C.

He had given them half a day and all night to bubble and brew. In the morning, two hours after he usually arrived at the office, he called Simms.

"I'll be there in an hour," he announced. "I'm bringing Romanov with me. When she leaves the office, she'll need a security detail of her own. Two men, around the clock."

"Uh … yes, sir."

"And her resignation is official as of two days ago."

"Sir, there are some rumors …"

"I married her, Simms."

"You married … Romanov."

"I did."

"I … oh. Um, congratulations."

"Whatever," Control said dryly. "Just have the detail ready."

* * *

Mickey Kostmayer sat with his feet on the empty desk of the cubicle across from Romanov, chatting with her while she packed her few personal effects.

James Simms strode down the aisle between desks in a fury. "Are you out of your mind?" he demanded.

Mickey lowered his feet slowly, but Control's lieutenant hadn't even noticed him. He was focused on Romanov.

She smiled. "Hey, James."

"Are you completely out of your mind?"

Mickey glanced around. Heads began to appear above the partitions, like prairie dogs popping up to see what the danger was.

"So you heard the news, huh?"

"You _married_ Control?" Simms demanded incredulously. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The prairie dogs gasped audibly and began to vanish. There were phone receivers picked up, hushed conversations begun.

"I was thinking," Lily answered, "that if I had to testify to that Committee, I'd end up in jail. Or he would."

"So your solution was to marry him?"

"It was _his_ solution, actually."

"But you went along with it."

"Remember when they weren't going to let me resign? Problem solved." She glanced at the cheap gold band on her left hand. "I think I need an engagement ring. Something just a little ostentatious. About two carats. Flawless. Mickey, you wanna go shop this afternoon?"

"Sure."

"They let you resign because you married Control?" Simms asked.

"They had to. Company policy; employee can't be married to each other."

"Romanov … what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning out my desk." She gestured to Mickey. "He's making sure I don't steal anything critical."

Simms spun to Kostmayer. "Did you know about this?"

Mickey nodded. "I was there. Walked her down the aisle, signed the license and everything."

"Are you insane?"

"Well," Mickey drawled, "I tried to talk her out of it at first, but once we figured out what the alimony would be, my heart just wasn't in it."

"What alimony?"

"Simms, get a clue," Lily said. "This isn't a love match. It's just legal protection. As soon as the Committee loses interest, it's over. I'm out of the Company and Control sends me a big old check every month for the rest of his life. Get it?"

"And in the mean time your life is in danger and you're stuck with him."

Lily shrugged. "Did you know he has a platinum Amex card? And for as long as we're married, my name's on the account."

"So this is all about money?"

"No, sweetie," she jeered. "It's about love and faithfulness and loyalty. Of course it's about money. Money and getting out alive."

"You're nothing but a little mercenary."

Mickey chuckled. "You make that sound like a bad thing, Simms."

The lieutenant scowled at him. Then he turned back to Lily. "This is insanity."

"No. This is finally getting what I deserve from this damn organization."

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Mandy Stahl asked.

"I'm sure," Lily answered. "I'll have my stuff out by the end of the week. List it as fully furnished; I'm not taking much with me."

"Yes, but … are you sure you don't want to keep the apartment just a little longer?" Mandy ran the Company housing service for the New York office; her job was to help employees find places to live, at reasonable prices if possible. She didn't get ten open apartments in a year, and this one was a gem. But she didn't want to line a tenant up and have it fall through.

"I'm sure," Romanov answered confidently. "I'm going to live in penthouse from now on."

"Yes, but …" The woman shuffled papers uneasily. "But what if things don't … you know … work out?"

The agent grinned broadly. "You mean with Control? There's nothing to work out. As soon as it's convenient, I'll be a single woman again."

"Then shouldn't you keep the apartment?"

"No. Because he'll be paying my rent for the rest of my life anyhow. Now where do I sign?"

* * *

"Hey, Munchie."

The mail clerk looked up and smiled. "Hey, girl," he said gently. "Man, you are the talk of the town, you know that?"

"I know." Romanov held a small white paper bag over the half-door to the mail room. "I brought you doughnuts."

"You didn't have to do that." He wheeled his chair over and took the bag. "One jelly-filled, one glazed," he said without looking. "You're a sweetheart, Lily. But you really didn't have to."

"One last time," she said sadly.

"Yeah." He put the bag on the counter. "I don't have any mail for you. I'm sorry."

"I know. I don't work here any more."

"Doesn't mean you can't stop by to visit," Muncie said.

They looked at each other. She wouldn't be back. "You could come out to the house," he finally said. "If you have a little free time now. Shelly and the girls would love to see you."

"Maybe," Lily agreed softly. "Thank you."

"Aw, sweetie …"

She straightened up. "Your girls are still in Scouts?"

"Oh, yeah," Munchie sighed. "About running their poor mother's legs off, between the three of them. It'll be easier when Emily gets out of Brownies, then they'll all be in the same pack." He paused, wondering why she'd asked.

"Cookie sale's in the spring?"

"Oh, don't remind me."

Lily smiled mischievously. "I don't think you'll have to go door-to-door this year." She handed him a very thick manila envelope.

"What's this?" Munchie asked. The agent – former agent – waited patiently while he opened it. There were sheets of paper inside, some kind of list. There was also a great deal of cash. He looked up at her. "What are you up to?"

"Just buying cookies for some friends," she explained sweetly.

"But the sale doesn't start until next month."

"It's okay. Just hang onto it until then."

He understood then, with sudden, painful clarity. "Aw, sweetie. I'm gonna miss you."

It seemed like her eyes filled up with tears, but it might have been the light. "You, too, Munchie. You take care. Give all your girls a big kiss for me."

"I will."

Lily raised her hand in a half-hearted wave and walked away.

Munchie sat for a long time with the envelope full of money in his lap. He'd put it somewhere safe, look over her list, see who was supposed to get what. The girls would be thrilled with the huge sale. He'd have to divide up the boxes evenly. He'd take care of it, every last detail. He'd do that for her.

He was quite certain that he would never see Lily Romanov again.

* * *

There was a little bench next to the shower for clean towels. It was white, of course. Lily perched on it, wrapped in a way-too-big white bathrobe, and watched Control shave. For reasons he had never understood, it was one of her favorite things to do.

"You should grow a beard," she said.

He glanced at her. "I tried it once. I looked thoroughly scraggly and disreputable. Like a pirate."

"I like pirates."

Control chuckled and continued. After a moment, he realized she'd fallen silent. "What are you thinking about, love?"

"Genetics," she answered.

He raised one eyebrow in surprise. "Genetics?"

"You and I," Lily explained, "are the most devious people I know. We are not nice people. We are ruthless, we are …" She paused. "I am wondering if this child isn't destined to be some kind of psychopath right out of the gate."

"No," Control answered simply.

"Just no."

"Just no." He rinsed his face, toweled it dry.

"Explain," Lily insisted.

He turned, rested his hip on the edge of the sink. "You were not born a killer. Neither was I. We are the result of our environment. We've done what we needed to do to survive. Our child – our children – will grow up safe and protected and well-loved. They will never have to do those things."

"But the potential will always be there," Lily argued.

"The potential is always there in everyone."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Other people have been through the same things we have and they haven't become us. Mrs. Nabakowski watched her whole family slaughtered and she was still loving and honest and nurturing."

"So are you," Control pointed out. "And I'm not so sure about the honest part. Who helped you get a birth certificate?"

"Yes, but that was …" Lily paused, pondered. "And there's Robert."

"You don't think Robert's like us?"

"No. He used to be, but he made the choice to change."

Control smiled gently. "He made the choice."

"Yes, he …"

"So whatever genes went into making him such an elegantly effective killer, whatever made him so brilliantly ruthless, he _chose_ not to be like us any more?"

Lily sighed. "You really think it's all nurture and no nature?"

"I think nature takes a role," Control conceded. "I don't think it dictates who we are."

She frowned, then stood up and re-wrapped the huge robe. "Maybe. And maybe you're whistling past the graveyard."

She slid out past him. Control watched her go. He allowed himself to ponder, just for an instant, the possibility of a child, sweet-faced and wholesome, more clever than either of his parents and more relentless. An angelic boy who could get anything from anyone.

He shook his head, splashed more water on his face, and hurried to get dressed.

* * *

Very early Saturday morning, Control left the office and made his way to what was at the moment the hottest nightclub in Manhattan. The club wanted to be achingly exclusive, and for a split second the bouncer at the door was not going to let him in. Something in the spymaster's eyes – or perhaps the heavily-armed muscle that followed him – made him change his mind and open the door.

Control strode to a table in the dimly-lit back corner of the room. A famous male ballet star sat there, surrounded by his entourage, sipping vodka. He had a pretty American girl on his knee. "Hello, Misha," Control said.

"Ah, my friend!" the former Russian said broadly. "Sit down, sit down, I'll get you a glass!"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid."

"But you must join me." He gestured to the girl. "I cannot get her to drink with me. And if I cannot get her drunk, I cannot convince her to come home with me. I'm suffering, Control. You must join us and convince her to drink with us."

Control shook his head. "She won't go home with you anyhow."

The dancer looked at the girl. "Is this true?"

"Sadly, yes."

"But why? We are getting along so well." He brushed her hair away from her neck and nibbled gently on the lobe of her ear. "See, you are already here on my lap, it is only a small step from there to …"

"She's my wife," Control announced calmly.

The ex-Russian looked more startled than surprised. "This one?" He stroked his fingers down her neck to her collarbone.

"Yes."

"I had no idea. Well, that explains everything. Since you are here now, I suppose she will go home with you." He made no attempt to move the woman off his lap. "How long have you been married?"

Lily wriggled against his shoulder. "Less than a week."

"And yet you are here with me, and he is working, I suppose. Is that it?"

"Yes." Control took her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet.

The dancer shook his head, unperturbed. "She is much too young for you." He rolled to his own feet with a grace that could make women swoon at five hundred yards. "But less than a week, eh, what can I do?" He took Lily's free hand and bowed to kiss it. "In a month or two, when he continues to neglect you, you will come and find me, yes?"

She smiled warmly. "Probably."

"I will not be hard to find, I promise."

"Good night, Misha," Control said. He turned and moved his hand up to the inside of his wife's arm.

The agents in the club – those who kept watch over the Russian, not Control's own guards, who reported nothing to anyone but him – reported that the spymaster seemed to be furious as he led the woman from the club.

The woman, they further reported, was laughing.

* * *

On Monday, Lily Romanov visited Control's office. He was in a meeting and did not see her. She asked his secretary, Sue, to notarize the title to her Mercedes Benz. She was selling the car to Scott McCall for one dollar.

"I thought you loved that car," Sue said in surprise.

"I do," Lily answered. She was wearing an expensive-looking coat and carried a new Coach bag and matching leather gloves. "But I'll love a brand new one even better."

Tuesday afternoon, Simms ran into DeWitt in the hallway outside Control's office. The man had a stack of file folders a foot high. "What's all that?" Simms asked.

"Operations reports he wants re-done," DeWitt said glumly. "By morning."

"Damn. Sorry."

"What is with him this week?"

"Control?" Simms shrugged. "He's always like this."

"No, he's not. Not like this," DeWitt protested. "He's jumped down my throat four times already and it's only Tuesday. Nothing I do is right. Nothing anybody does is right."

"I think … having Romanov at close quarters may be harder than he expected."

"They've always been tight. What's going on?"

"You think he confides in me?"

"More than in the rest of us." DeWitt shifted the files to his other arm. "Come on, what gives?"

Simms thought for a long moment and picked his words carefully. "When Lily was at the office, or in the field, they got along great. But now … I mean, she's living in his apartment. And he's used to a certain amount of space. You know how he is." He considered further. "Now that she's retired, she doesn't have anything to do all day but shop and party."

"Yeah, I heard about the Russian." DeWitt shifted his load again. "So how long is this farce going to last?"

"Until the Committee formally drops the investigation."

"How long is that?"

"It's up to them. Could be a few weeks. Could be years."

"If it's years," DeWitt promised, "I'll lead the rebellion myself."

Simms shook his head. "Maybe she'll find a hobby."

"God, I hope so."

* * *

On Thursday Romanov came into the office, and she and Control left together for lunch. They seemed to be getting along well. But on Friday, at the end of the day, she showed up again, sporting a ring with a blue-white diamond that would have choked a pigeon.

Control took one look and said, "It's going back."

"You _said_ I could buy a ring," Lily protested, trailing him from the conference room back to his office.

"I said you could buy a ring. I didn't say you could buy the Hope Diamond."

"But look how pretty it is."

"It's going back."

"It can't go back. They're already closed."

"Then it's going back in the morning."

"They're not open on weekends."

Control stopped, visibly frustrated, and picked up his phone messages from Sue's desk. "Then it's going in my safe until Monday, and first thing Monday morning it's going back."

Romanov stuck her bottom lip out. "We'll see."

He glowered at her and continued into his office.

"Oh, wait'll you see what I got Kostmayer for his birthday," Lily said, closing the inner door behind her.

Sue stood up and got her coat. It was a little early, but she did not want to be there when the two of them came out of the office. She got her purse and forwarded her phone, then slipped out as quickly as she could.


	10. Chapter 9

Control woke and went to the bathroom without turning on the light. The lights of the city far below washed the apartment in a familiar dim glow, and in any case it was his own apartment; he knew the way.

When he came back, the broad white bed was empty. He frowned, confused, at the smooth expanse of white comforter, the crisp pillows. Lily had been asleep on the far side when he'd left, the covers rumpled, the pillows creased and folded. Now it was clean, bare, as if she had never slept there, as if he had not just left it a moment ago.

"Lily?" he called quietly.

She was in the other room, certainly. In the den watching TV, or in the spare bedroom at the computer. Certainly somewhere within the apartment.

Except the apartment around him echoed with cold emptiness.

He wanted to go look for her, but he could not turn away from the ghastly white bed. It fascinated him, horrified him. His skin prickled. There was something about the bed.

Impatient with his own fears, he snapped on the light. In the harsh glare, the bed seemed even bigger, whiter – emptier. He took a step towards it, sick with dread. Turn away, his heart urged. She's not here. Go look somewhere else. But he could not. He touched the top of the comforter. It was cold, crisp. Freshly washed and unused.

Where was Lily? Oh, God, he'd only left her for a moment, he'd been close enough to hear her if she'd cried out. Yet she was gone, and he was sick with certainty that she was gone forever, sick and sweaty, trembling with horror and wanting frantically to turn away from that horrible white bed …

… the bed where she had died …

He grabbed the top of the comforter and whisked it back quickly. As he'd feared, as he'd known, the sheet beneath was not white, but red, fresh, bright red, blood red. Too much blood, it pooled in the center, ran off the edges onto the white carpet, soaked through the comforter. He gagged on the smell of copper in the air. Blood everywhere, her blood, on this bed where she had died in the moments he left her alone, he should never have left her alone and she was gone, dead in agony and he was alone with only the crisp white and the horrifying red …

"Lily!" he screamed.

He woke sitting straight up in bed. The light was off; the room was dim. The bed was rumpled. He was naked beneath the comforter.

He was drenched with sweat and shivering.

"I'm here," she said softly.

Control twisted around. Lily was sitting up beside him, close but not touching him. Her bare skin was luminous in the vague city light. "Okay?" she asked. He nodded, fully awake, and she moved closer, touched his back and then slid her arms around him.

She was warm, soft. He twisted further to hold her. He was still trembling, but she was here, safe, alive.

Too many nights he had woken from a nightmare alone in the huge white bed, with no one to hold him or calm him. His heart ached with how good it felt to have her there.

"Wanna tell me?" she asked softly.

Control shook his head. "Just a dream."

"Mmm." She didn't believe him, but she didn't push it. As always. "Can I get you a drink or something?"

The idea of her being out of his sight brought back the terror of the dream. "No," he said quickly. "No. Just stay with me."

Lily lay back, drew him down to her. They curled together, arms and legs gently tangled comfortably, face to face, sharing air and warmth in the early pre-dawn quiet.

"I like it here," Lily murmured.

"I like having you here." He stroked her shoulder lightly. "Oh, I wish I'd done this a long time ago."

They fell quiet. It hadn't been possible before; it was only barely and temporarily possible now. And it was incredibly dangerous. But for the moment, just for the moment, they were safe and warm in each other's arms, and that was enough.

It was their last full night together.

* * *

Mid-morning, Saturday, Control dropped the stack of re-written reports onto DeWitt's desk. "Better," he pronounced, and turned to leave.

"Thank you, sir," DeWitt said. "Anything else you need me to do?"

Control turned in the doorway and shook his head. "Keep up on things," he said. "Let me know if anything slips by you think I should pay attention to."

"The wife's kind of a distraction, huh?"

"She's not …" The spymaster caught himself. "Yes. She can be distracting. Yes."

"Sorry, sir."

"What does _anybody_ need with an eighty thousand dollar ring?" Control wondered aloud.

"Eighty thousand?" DeWitt asked, incredulous.

"It's going back Monday," Control said firmly. He turned and walked out, still muttering to himself.

* * *

Lily stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a massive white towel. Control was shaving for the second time that day. He was not letting himself contemplate the fact that it would be the last time he could shave himself for several months – or possibly ever.

"Do we have to go?" Lily asked quietly.

He glanced at her in the mirror. "No. But if we don't go there, they'll probably come here."

She nodded, toweled her hair with one hand. "I know."

"And we'll sit here and worry."

She nodded again and ran the towel over the rest of her skin. The grief, the resignation, had returned. And the fear.

Control wished it was over already. The night would be difficult, for both of them.

He returned to shaving, watching her over his shoulder in the mirror. Lily peeled the towel off and stood on her tiptoes to drape it on the hook next to the shower door. Entranced, Control put down the razor and turned. "Come here."

"What?" Lily asked. "You've seen me naked before."

"Not like this." He drew her in front of him, turned to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. His hand slid around her waist and her spread his long fingers over the hard round lump just below her navel. "The baby's showing."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's way too soon."

"Lily." He moved his hand to her side and they stared into the mirror together. "That is definitely baby bump."

Her own hand strayed to where his had been. "It looks like I swallowed a tennis ball."

"It will grow."

She took a deep, shaky breath and turned her head to hide it against his neck. He covered her hand with his, covered their baby. Just as the grainy black and white picture had made the child more real, so did this visible bulge. Their child.

Lily straightened abruptly, moving away from his touch. "I have to get dressed," she said, and slipped form the room.

Control could feel her terror. He ached to tell her there was nothing to worry about, that they were safe, that everything would be fine. But his words would mean nothing.

They were about to start the most dangerous night of their very dangerous lives.

* * *

"Well," Control said, folding his napkin and putting it beside his completely empty plate, "that was absolutely magnificent."

"It was," Robert agreed. "I don't remember when I've had a better meal."

Becky blushed deeply. "I'm glad you liked it."

"We should do this more often," Mira Kalinich, McCall's long-time lover, said. Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry. That was a damn stupid thing to say."

"No," Lily answered. "You should do this more. Just … we won't be here. So you can talk about us."

"And you know we will," Mickey contributed.

Scott stood up and reached for his empty plate. "This is the last time we'll all be together like this," he said wistfully.

"Leave it," Anne told him. "Mickey can help me later."

"Thanks," Kostmayer said.

"This is the _first_ time we've all been together like this," Control observed.

"You were all at the wedding," Becky corrected.

"Yes, but that was very different. This is – "

"Out in the open?" Robert suggested.

From the portable crib at the far side of the room, baby Alex cooed softly.

"I'll get him," Lily said.

"Coffee," Becky said. "And chocolate cake."

"I'll help," Anne said, and followed her back to her own kitchen. The Kostmayers' loft was the only place large enough to accommodate the whole group; Becky had come over early in the afternoon to prepare the dinner.

The rest of the group migrated to a loose triangle of couches under a huge portrait of a big-eyed boy. Control settled in the corner of one couch, with Lily at his side, the baby in her arms.

"You make a nice picture there," Mira said, studying them.

"They do look rather natural," Robert agreed. He helped distribute the coffee, then sat opposite them.

"I can't believe," Anne complained as she delivered plates of impossibly rich-looking cake, "that you've been together for all this time and nobody bothered to tell me." She shot a dire look at her husband.

"It was very important that the relationship remain a secret," Control offered.

"Someone could have whispered in my ear."

Mickey threw his hands. "I was sworn to secrecy," he protested. "And besides, I never thought it would last."

"When I get up," Lily said, "I'm going to kick you in the shin."

"Thanks for the warning."

"I don't suppose I can take a picture now," Anne ventured hopefully.

"No."

She sighed and sat down with her cake. "You do look good. Very natural."

"If it's any comfort," Mira said, "I didn't know, either."

"I didn't know until our wedding," Scott offered. "Before that I thought she was sleeping with my dad."

Lily grinned. She balanced her plate on Control's knee, safely if just barely out of Alex's reach, then managed to get a bite before the baby grabbed for it. "Oh, that's good," she purred. "Becky, come sit down. This cake is amazing."

"You'd like anything that was chocolate," Becky answered. She sat on the arm of the couch, ready to spring up if anyone ran out of anything.

"That's true," Lily agreed. "I think I shall miss your cooking most of all."

"What, not your Mercedes?" Scott teased. "That car is _so_ sweet to drive."

"They'll probably come and search it," Control warned him. "But you'll get it back in a few days."

"No problem."

"I thought you'd miss my shooting lessons," Mickey said with a fake pout.

"That, too," Lily agreed. "And Robert's noble speeches."

McCall scowled at her unconvincingly. "The last time I tried to give a noble speech you cut me off at the knees."

"I'm sorry. It doesn't mean I won't miss them."

"I'll still have a phone, you know."

"My moral compass."

"What I want to know," Mira said, "and I don't know if this is the historian in my or just the nosy woman, but I want to know how you got together in the first place."

"Oh, that," Control said easily. "She seduced me."

McCall laughed out loud. "_She_ seduced _you_? You're Control. You don't really expect us to believe that."

"I believe it," Mickey said.

"Thank you," Lily answered. "It's true. Though he didn't take much convincing. A couple candles and three sips of brandy and he was all mine."

"As I recall, there was chocolate cake that night, too."

She nodded. "I forgot about that. I think it was mousse, though."

"It might have been. Chocolate something, anyhow. I distinctly remember thinking, I must remember that chocolate puts this woman in the mood for romance."

"Isn't that true for all women?" Anne asked.

After a moment, every woman in the room nodded. "Yes. Definitely."

"If that's actually the case, that she seduced you," Robert said, "then what I want to know is _why_."

"Because Reznick dared her," Control answered ruefully.

"Because it was impossible," Lily countered.

"Ah, yes," McCall said. "Lily the Impossible Girl."

"It might help you to remember," Control said quietly, "how many impossible things we've already done, you and I."

Lily looked doubtful. "Nothing quite _this_ impossible."

"You put a great white wedding together in thirteen days," Mira reminded her.

"Yes, but nobody was trying to kill me."

"My mother was," Scott said.

"Only with her looks."

McCall chuckled. "Only because she couldn't get her hands on a weapon."

"She knew, by the way," Lily said, looking back at Control. "At the wedding."

"_Kay_ knew?"

"She knew, or she thought she knew. Either way."

"What did she say?"

"That I should remember that life is short and elope with you right away." Lily chewed another bite of cake. "Although now that I think about it, maybe she was just trying to get rid of me."

"That seems likely."

"You did go flying out of there," Scott remembered. "Was that because of her?"

Lily shook her head. "No, that was … I almost forgot. I have gifts. Sort of." She tried to stand up, thought better of it. "Mickey, that bag by the door, and the box."

"You want me to fetch them, ma'am?"

"Don't give me any lip or I'll kick you in the other shin, too."

Grudgingly, he went and brought her the shopping bag and the big white box. "That," she said, pointing to the box, "is for you. Happy birthday."

"It's next week, you know."

Lily sighed. "Anne, kick him for me, would you?"

"I'll get him later."

Mickey put the box on the table and opened it gingerly.

"Awful damn big to be a bomb, don't you think?" Control asked.

Kostmayer paused, the box half-open. "Not the way _she_ builds them." He closed his eyes tightly and pulled the lid the rest of the way off swiftly. He peeked inside, then stretched out one tentative finger to pull the tissue paper aside.

Slowly, he began to grin. He reached both hands into the box and pulled out a coat, a long leather duster, black and made to look battered.

"It'll keep your ass warm on stake-outs with McCall," Lily said. "And the liner zips out."

"It's wonderful," Anne said.

Mickey slipped the coat on. It fit, of course, as if it were custom-made. There was a little extra room under both arms for weapons. "Nice," he said warmly.

"Very nice," Robert agreed. "Now I won't feel guilty about having you stand out in the cold all those long hours."

"Now wait …" Mickey protested.

Lily brought an old three-ring binder out of the bag and held it out to Becky. "This is how to feed twenty to fifty people really well on no budget."

Becky opened the notebook carefully. The pages were neatly written, but worn, faded, stained. She knew the best recipes came that way. "Thank you."

"The rest of these are journals," Lily continued. She brought out one ancient composition book. "I would keep them in Robert's safe, Mira, but you're welcome to read them and use them as you wish. I know Holocaust history isn't your specialty, and if you want to make copies of them for someone or whatever … there's no one to claim the rights to them, but they're really amazing stories."

Robert took the slender book from her, glanced at the pages, passed it on and reached for another one. "Your foster mother."

"Yes."

"These are … priceless. You can't mean to leave these here."

"I scanned them into a computer file, on a disk. I'll have them with me. But the originals … they're too bulky. I'm afraid they'd get lost on the way."

"I'll make copies," Robert promised, "and put the originals in the trunk for you."

Lily nodded.

The weight of their impending separation crushed their spirits again. She turned to Control for comfort, for hope.

Alexander Robert McCall sized the opportunity to reach past her and grab a handful of cake.

* * *

They got back to the great white penthouse shortly after midnight, and without speaking went and sat on the windowsill overlooking the city.

It was Manhattan; it did not sleep. But over the course of an hour it grew quieter. The traffic thinned; the horns and sirens became less frequent; half of the lights went out.

"You should try to get a little sleep," Control said quietly.

Lily turned to look at him. Her eyes were dark, hollow. She had shut herself away. But at his touch she sparked back to life. She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Without words, they stripped off their clothes and fell onto the white bed, wrapped in each other. They made love gently, quietly. Sadly.

Lily slept then, still in his arms, not because she wanted to, Control knew, but because the baby insisted. He remained awake, alert. There was no danger here, not now, not yet. He drank her scent, the feel of her skin against his, committing every detail to memory against the long days ahead.

She is my love, he thought with fierce possession, and my life. Apart from her there is nothing for me. No joy, no warmth. Only the cold satisfaction of vanquishing my enemies. I go with her or I die here, but I cannot live without her now.

Her breathing entranced him. He traced his hand over her belly again, over the barely-discernable bump that was their child. It was early, but Lily had never regained all the weigh she'd lost in Bosnia; her slender body disguised nothing. Her breasts had grown noticeably full and lush in just a few weeks. There was a sudden softness about her body, utterly unfamiliar on her athletic frame.

He wanted very much to watch her continued evolution, to watch as the baby bump grew undeniable, as her precious body rounded into motherhood. But it was impossible. To keep her at his side now was to risk both of them.

He pushed the thoughts aside and considered only the real and human warmth of her body next to his.

At four, reluctantly, he woke her. "Lily, my love," he said against her ear, "you have to go."

She shuddered as she woke. Then she rolled tighter into his arms. "No."

"Lily."

"Please." Her legendary self-control snapped and she began to cry. "Please don't make me go. I'll stay, we'll have bodyguards, I don't care …"

"Lily." Control kissed her cheeks, savoring her tears, committing their taste to memory as well. "Don't, love."

"Most of your enemies are dead anyhow, and we could …" She stopped and took a deep breath. Then she rolled away and sat up, with her back to him.

"You have time to shower, if you want," he offered.

She nodded without turning and made her way to the bathroom. When the shower had started, Control climbed out of bed and put his clothes from the night before back on. He packed Lily's little backpack for her, then went to the living room and opened the safe.

It was already empty, except for the folders, the small blue box and the note. They'd taken care of those preparations days ago.

He glanced at his watch again. Half an hour before Tillman was due. He went and poured himself a drink. Got out a cigar, but didn't light it. Time enough when Lily was gone; the smell made her queasy now.

He heard her come out of the bathroom and move around the bedroom. Quick, efficient; he knew even before she came into the room that her eyes would be cold and distant. She needed to hide her feelings away now. He needed her to as well. Her tears made him doubt the plan. But it was far too late to turn back.

She walked into the living room slowly, stopped at a distance.

"I packed your bag," Control said.

"I know. Thank you."

"I might have missed something …"

"It doesn't matter."

"No. I suppose not." He stood up and walked to her slowly. "I could make you some breakfast."

Lily shook her head. "I should go."

"Yes."

"Andrew …"

"You have done harder things than this, Lily."

Her eyes filled with tears again, but she blinked them back. "I don't think I have."

"A few weeks," he promised. "A few months at most, and I'll be with you. I swear it. Trust me."

Lily studied him, and it seemed like there was almost a glimmer of gallows humor in her eyes. They both knew he'd lied to her over and over.

"One last time," he continued. "Trust me just once more. And I'll never ask you to again."

She did try to smile then, because they both knew that was a lie. She moved closer, and he wrapped her in his arms. One last time. One last time.

They stood that way for several minutes, not moving, not talking. And then some silent signal told them it was time to move. "I love you," Lily said. "Don't die."

"I love you, too. Don't die either."

She stepped back, went to the closet for her jacket. She slung her backpack over one shoulder, came back for one last kiss. "See you on the other side."

Control nodded, with his own wry smile. "Be careful."

Lily went to the door of the spare room, where the secret exit was. She paused there, turned. "Whatever happens, Andrew, I regret nothing."

"Let's keep it that way," he said.

She slipped through the doorway. A few seconds later, the hidden door clicked softly and she was gone.

Control took a long deep breath and blew it out. Then he downed his drink, poured himself another, and lit his cigar.


	11. Chapter 10

Douglas Tillman came in by the same door Lily had used, hidden even from Control's security detail, secret.

"In here, Doctor," Control called to him, not bothering to get up.

Tillman came in, looking around. "Good God," he said, "haven't you ever heard of _color_, Control?"

"I needed the absence of shadows. Want a drink?"

"I shouldn't," Tillman said. He put down his briefcase and accepted the glass anyhow. "Sure you don't want to change your mind about this?"

"I'm sure," Control answered.

"It's a lot of trouble to go through for a girl."

Control grinned into his drink. "Have you met the girl?"

"Yes, I have." Tillman settled into the other armchair. "I have."

"Well then."

They sat and drank in companionable silence.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before the phone rang. Control jumped, startled, but did not reach for it. It rang three times, then went silent.

"That her?" Tillman asked.

"Yes. Probably."

She would call back, Control knew. There was still one more chance to call it all off. All he had to do was pick up the phone. Tell her to come back. Double up her security, claim the baby as his, go back to work …

No.

In twenty seconds, the phone rang again, just once. Control closed his eyes, sick with desire. It did not ring again.

He opened his eyes, drained his drink. "All right," he said briskly. "Let's get to it."

Tillman shook his head. "This is against my better judgment, Control. You could very well end up dead."

"Or free," the spymaster argued, "and very happy."

"You won't know what to do with yourself if you're free and happy."

"I'll figure it out."

Tillman picked up his case. "All right. Where do you want to end up? I'm an old man, I'm not going to drag you all over this God-awful apartment."

Control rolled to his feet, put down his glass, and walked over to the open safe. "Here," he said.

"On the floor," Tillman ordered.

It took, in his skilled hands, only three injections: One to block the nerves in Control's arm, a second, trickier, in the spine, rendering him numb from the waist down, mostly on the left side. He hesitated with the third, at the side of Control's neck. "I could stay with you a while," he said. "Make sure you can breathe and all."

"I can breathe," Control said. "I need you at the hospital when I get there."

The doctor shook his head. "All right. Good luck." He jabbed in the needle and pumped the left side of Control's face full of enough Botox to leave it sagging for a month.

This is how it ends, Control thought.

Tillman did stay for a few minutes, watching him. He rolled him onto his side, checked his vitals one last time. Control barely noticed. His body was numb and his mind had slipped into a quiet satisfied place. It was the most dangerous part of the whole plan, he knew, but at last, at last, they were on with it. No more waiting, no more planning. Just the play now.

Lily was tucked aware somewhere in the city, secret and safe. His body had been rendered useless for many hours to come, and when he reached the hospital Tillman would keep it that way. An hour or two and the acting would begin. But for now, there was only time and his remarkably comfortable white carpet, which he would never see again.

Tillman said, "I'm taking some of these cigars. You won't need them anyhow."

"Enjoy," Control said. His word came out soft and mangled, unintelligible.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Doug said. "See you soon."

Control strained to hear him leave, but even his left ear was numb and useless.

Two glasses, he thought with quiet panic. There were two used glasses on the side table, an impossible ten feet away. But it was okay, he realized. They would think Lily had had a drink with him, before he collapsed, before she stole his files and left him there.

He closed his eyes. This is how the end begins.

* * *

Director Olford glared at his phone when it rang early on Sunday morning. But it was the secret number; he had to answer it. "Yes?"

"Director Olford?"

He frowned and put down his coffee cup. "Who is this?"

"James Simms. From Control's – "

"How did you get this number?"

"Uh, Control gave it to me. For use in an emergency."

"It had better be a hell of an emergency, Simms."

"Yessir. Control's … it looks like he's had a stroke. A big one."

"Is he conscious?"

"Yes, but he's not talking."

"You need to limit access …"

"Already done, sir. He's in our secured wing of the hospital. Dr. Tillman is treating him."

"Good." Olford nodded to himself. "Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir. But that's not the emergency."

Olford paused. "Go on."

"We found him in his apartment. Control. His personal safe was open. He had files."

"Files?" Olford felt a cold clutch in his gut.

"They're labeled, with names of … well, everyone. You and the rest of the Directors. Government officials, all the way up to the White House ..."

"I get the picture. What's in them?"

Simms hesitated. "Nothing."

"Nothing."

"The files are all empty. They've been cleaned out. By Lily Romanov."

"How do you know it was her?"

"She left a note."

"A note."

"Yes, sir. _If you harm Control or come after me, I will burn you all. I'll be in touch_."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know, sir. And I … didn't think it was my call to go after her until I spoke to you."

"She has the files."

"Yes, sir."

"Damn."

"Exactly, sir."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"No, sir." Simms took a breath and launched into a quick, efficient report. "I received a call from Romanov on my portable phone just before seven o'clock. She said Control needed immediate assistance. Then she hung up. I tried to call her back, but she didn't answer. I was on my way to work, so I diverted that direction. I called Control directly and also got no answer, so I called his security team. They told me that the two of them had come back to the penthouse about midnight and were still inside. I asked them to try the door. They got no response. By then I was only two minutes away, so I told them to wait for me. When I got there, we forced the door."

"Go on," Olford said.

"We found Control on the floor in front of the safe. I saw the door open and sent his security men to check the apartment. I was the only one who saw the contents."

"The girl was gone."

"Yes, sir. There was a separate entrance to the penthouse that Control's security detail was unaware of."

"Of course there was." Oldford paused, considering. "Any chance that Romanov caused Control's collapse?"

"Not so far, sir. At least not directly. Tillman thinks it was simply a stroke. Control's blood pressure was an issue when he was shot last fall, and he's been resistant to addressing it."

"You were in charge when he was shot, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're in charge again. Have your agents keep an eye out for Romanov; if they find her, keep her under surveillance. But do not apprehend or approach her. Talk to everyone who's seen her recently; search anywhere she would have gone. Keep track of anything Control says. I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir."

Olford put his phone down carefully. So Control's marriage of convenience had turned on him already. Interesting. But the woman had all their files, including his. What did Control have on him? So many possibilities. So many people angered or destroyed on his way to the top.

And how many other files, how many other people?

Whatever was in the files, it must never come to light.

Olford pushed back from his breakfast table and went to get dressed.

* * *

"What the hell is going on?" Robert McCall demanded. "Where's Control?"

Simms stood firmly between him and the closed door to the exam room. "He's had a stroke," he said.

"What?"

"At least that's what it looks like."

"I want to see him. Now."

"Dr. Tillman's with him. They're running some more tests. We'll let you know when we know anything." Simms' eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, anyhow?"

"Lily Romanov called me. Is she with Control?"

Simms shook his head. "She's … it's …" He glanced around the waiting room. There were six men with guns, plus three tie boys. He took McCall's arm. "Come with me," he said, and led him into one of the side rooms.

* * *

They pounded on Mickey Kostmayer's door before eight in the morning. He answered in a pair of boxers, with a gun in his hand. "What?" he demanded.

Lisinger eyed him anxiously, but he had four men behind him. "We need to search your apartment."

"For what?"

"Lily Romanov."

"She left hours ago. With Control."

"Let us in."

Kostmayer looked at him. Then he looked at the men behind him. Then he looked across the street, at the black van that probably held more men. Then he looked up to the roof. The sniper there waved once. Mickey waved back.

"Whatever," he said, stepping back. "She's not here." He turned. "Annie! Get some clothes on!" Then to Lisinger, "What'd she do?"

The lieutenant waited until the men with him had fanned out. "She cleaned out Control's safe last night."

Kostmayer grinned. "That's my girl. How come he's not here looking for her in person?"

"He's had a stroke."

"Oh." Mickey sobered at once. "Bad?"

"Bad."

"Huh. They were just here for a party last night. He looked okay then." He nodded thoughtfully. "This is about the ring, isn't it?"

* * *

"She had this beautiful engagement ring," Mira Kalinch told Russo. She was shocked and a little frightened to be having her apartment searched, but McCall had called and told her to let them in. She was chatty, nervous. "Just a beautiful stone. And she loved it, she really did. I guess she'd picked it up on Friday, and Control kept telling her it was going back to the store first thing Monday morning."

"They argued about it?" Russo asked absently. He looked around the woman's apartment in dismay. If the files were hidden here, it would take ten years and a bulldozer to find them. The woman gave the word 'packrat' a whole new dimension.

"Not argued exactly," the historian told him. "They sort of bickered. You know how people are sometimes? When they don't want to fight in public, but you just know the minute they're alone the roof is going to blow off? It was like that. She wanted to keep the ring. He wanted to take it back. And they kept picking at each other all evening. Very quiet, but very pointed."

Russo nodded. He knew exactly. They'd been bickering like that in the office ever since they got married.

* * *

"She hasn't been here in … well, since Alex was a newborn," Scott McCall said. He watched with anxious interest as the men quickly, efficiently searched his apartment. Becky sat behind him on the couch, trying to keep the baby amused. "When Control got shot. When was that, Halloween?"

"But you saw her last night."

"At Kostmayer's. It was his birthday party. They left about midnight."

Markland nodded. "She sold you her car, I understand."

"Yeah. Well, she gave it to me. For a buck. She said Control was going to buy her a new one. Is he going to be okay?"

"We don't know yet."

"Can we visit him?" Becky asked.

"We'll let you know. I'll need the keys to the car."

Scott started to protest, then just shrugged and went to get them. "You're not going to trash it, right? It's a nice car. Old, but nice."

"We'll be careful," Markland promised.

* * *

Robert McCall watched them search his apartment with open loathing. "She wouldn't be fool enough to come here. Or go to any of her others friends. She's much too clever for that."

"Probably," Stevens agreed. "But we have to look."

"Well, look and be quick about it. I want to get back to the hospital."

"You have any hidden rooms?" the Princeton boy asked. "Hidden panels, anything like that?"

McCall regarded him with distain. "Of course I do."

"I'll need to see them."

The retired spy looked at him with open loathing.

"The sooner you show me, the sooner I'll be gone."

"Fine, fine. Come with me. Just you, not any of your flunkies here. And then I want you out of here." Robert stopped. "And if I find any bugs in this apartment after you're gone, Stevens, I swear I will hunt you down and break your arms. Is that clear?"

"Clear, sir."

* * *

The door of Control's office – _his_ office, at least for the moment – opened without warning. James Simms looked up as a large, square man entered and stood to one side. A second very big man came in and stood on the other side. Simms rolled smoothly to his feet as a third, much smaller, much more dangerous man followed them.

"Director Olford," he said, trying to sound calmer than he was.

Olford nodded and the beefy men departed, closing the door behind them. He dropped into one of the chairs across the desk from Simms. "Sit. Tell me what we're dealing with."

Simms sat down and collected himself. "Lily Romanov is highly intelligent, highly skilled, highly trained."

"Is she a traitor? Is she out there peddling our secrets to the highest bidder?"

"I doubt it." Simms shook his head. "At least not yet."

"Then what's her game?"

"Revenge."

"Against Control?"

"Against the rest of us."

Oldford sat back, considering. "Damn. And what have we done to this woman to incur her wrath?"

"She planned to resign at the end of March," Simms answered. "Jason Masur red-carded her."

"Romanov's a courier."

"Yes."

"Why did he want to keep her?"

Simms shrugged. "Highly trained, highly skilled."

"The real reason."

"It would only be a guess."

"Then guess," Olford snapped.

"Control signed off on the resignation. My guess is that Masur blocked it just to screw with him."

Olford nodded. "He would. So this woman is holding the entire command of the Company hostage because we wouldn't let her resign?"

"There's more to it than that."

"Simms, I do not have a lot of time."

"I understand, sir." Simms took another deep breath. "Some years ago, there was an incident on the Honduran border. A town called Teotecacinte**." **

"Sandanistas," Olford supplied. "I remember."

"We lost a courier there. She was held captive for seven weeks …"

"Holy shit, that was Romanov?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Jason Masur has decided to make _her_ our enemy. Brilliant. Simply brilliant."

Simms said, "Yes, sir."

The director stood up and paced the office slowly. "What does she want?'

"I don't know."

"Then _guess_."

Simms considered. "She wants out of the Company. Clean. She probably wants money."

"Of course."

"And apparently she wants to guarantee Control's safety."

Olford frowned at him. "Why would she care? This marriage was a sham."

"Yes. But they've been having an affair for a number of years."

"What?"

"Control and Romanov," Simms clarified, "have been having an affair for some time."

"You're sure."

"Yes, sir."

"Damn." Olford sat down again. "From the top, Simms. Everything you know about it."

Simms nodded and began his story, exactly as he'd rehearsed it.

Most of it was the truth.


	12. Chapter 11

By sundown, Tillman had completed his tests. "He's had a stroke. A massive one."

"You said that this morning," McCall complained. "What else do you know?"

"Will he live?" Olford asked bluntly.

"He'll live. For now, at least. If the stroke itself was going to kill him, he'd have been dead when we found him."

"Will he recover?" Simms pressed.

Doug Tillman sat back and pursed his lips. He looked at the three men in the conference room with him, and finally shook his head. "We'll get him into rehab. He'll probably be able to relearn some skills – to swallow without choking, to do his own personal care to some extent …"

"Will he be able to be Control?" Olford demanded.

Tillman hesitated again. "No."

"Is he mentally impaired?" Robert asked, more gently than the Director had.

"I don't think so," Tillman said. "As far as I can ascertain, he's still in there. But he can't speak very well; it's difficult to be certain. That may improve over the next few days – his ability to speak. And again, we can take help with rehab. We'll have to see." He sighed. "But to be Control – no. You may consider him resigned as of about midnight last night."

Olford stood up and paced the room slowly.

Tillman continued his report. "He's completely paralyzed on his left side, head to toe. His right leg is also involved, but to a lesser degree. He may recover some movement there. He's able to breathe on his own, which is fortunate, but swallowing is an issue, so choking will be an immediate concern. If we'd gotten to him right away, there are a number of drugs that would have mitigated the damage. But it looks like he was on that floor for hours."

"They left the party just after midnight," Robert said absently.

"So they got home around one, give or take." Tillman considered. "He was still dressed. So he got home, had a drink, maybe a fight with the wife, really got his blood pressure spiked up there. He collapsed, she took off."

"And didn't call me until after six," Simms said, "or McCall, either." He shook his head. "What I don't get is, why was the safe open?"

"The ring," Robert said. "That damn diamond ring. He'd have put it in the safe until he could return it."

Simms nodded. "We found the box in the safe. It was empty."

"And the money was gone, too, I suppose."

"What money?"

Olford turned. "Control would have had a slush fund. Cash on hand, in case he needed to fund an operation, bribe someone."

"Or run for his life," Robert added dryly.

"Yes."

"There wasn't a dime in the safe," Simms said. "How much do you think it was?"

Robert sighed. "Knowing Control, quite a lot. Maybe half a million dollars. Maybe more."

"So," Olford said, "we have a courier, skilled and experienced in evasion, loose in Manhattan with half a million dollars in small unmarked bills and all of our dirty little secrets. Simply spectacular."

"You're assuming she's in Manhattan," Robert pointed out. "With a five hour head start, she could be anywhere."

"You're checked all her identities?" the director asked Simms.

"All the known ones, yes, sir."

"All the known ones. And since she was Control's girlfriend, she probably had a dozen we don't know about."

"Yes, sir."

Olford made another slow lap of the room. "Under normal circumstances," he finally said, "a man in Control's condition would considered too big a security risk to leave alive."

"Olford," McCall said dangerously, rolling to his feet.

"Calm down, McCall. These are not normal circumstances." He rubbed his eyes. "We can reasonably assume that our little avenging angel has some means of monitoring his condition. Possibly one of you is keeping her informed. But that doesn't matter. She's Control's creature, she'll have a back-up. And another one, and another one. We must proceed from the assumption that she knows everything that goes on with him. So. Control must not die."

"That is so very gracious of you," Robert told him, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"So what the hell do we do with him?"

"There's a facility north of Albany," Tillman said after a long pause. "It's called The Pines. Very exclusive, very expensive. Very discrete."

"I know the place," Olford said. "We've stashed some officials there."

"Oh, yes," McCall said. "When they've become senile and dangerous, and yet have inconvenient family members who would ask questions about their disappearances."

"The care is excellent," Tillman argued. "It's scenic, the food is good."

"He won't be happy there."

"He won't be happy anywhere," the doctor stated flatly. "Robert, the man was able-bodied yesterday and a cripple today. And he's not going to get better. It's brutal. But that's the reality of the situation."

McCall looked away for a moment. "I want to see him."

"He doesn't want to see anyone."

"He will see us," Olford said firmly. "Now."

* * *

Control was propped up in the hospital bed. His left hand was curled on his chest in a loose, unmoving fist. But with his right hand, he was scribbling frantically on a piece of paper, held firm on the table by a frightened-looking orderly.

As he reached the bottom of the page, he made a loud barking sound. The man quickly removed the page and held down a blank page for him.

"Control," Olford said. "We need to find Romanov."

Control looked at him. The left side of his face sagged, unresponsive, his eye dull and unseeing. But his right eye glimmered angry blue. He squinted at the Director ferociously.

"He's, uh, he's writing addresses," the orderly said.

There was a stack of rumpled sheets beside the clean ones. Control turned his attention back to the paper and continued to write.

McCall moved to the side of the bed and took over the orderly's task of holding the paper down. "You can go," he said gently. The young man scurried from the room. "How are you, Control?"

The spymaster – the former spymaster – paused long enough to glare up at him, then returned to writing.

"Control," Robert said quietly, "if they find Lily, if they recover the files, they've got no reason to let you live."

Control made an odd grunt and gestured angrily at the paper. Robert removed the half-completed sheet and watched while his friend scrawled on the next page. Then he flicked it towards Robert angrily.

The sheet read, 'no reason to live'.

Robert shook his head. "Control, that's not true. You've had a stroke, yes, but you can recover from this. You can go on to lead a perfectly …"

Control jabbed one finger in Tillman's direction. "I already told him the prognosis," the doctor said.

"You said he could recover some of his abilities."

"Right." Tillman looked away.

Olford went around to the other side of the bed and picked up the completed papers. "Simms," he said, after glancing through them, "go check all of these."

"Right away, sir." Simms took the papers. He glanced at Control, who glared back at him, then hurried out without a word.

"You won't find her," McCall predicted. "She's far too clever for that. She'll have hiding places of her own, not ones that Control knows about."

Control hesitated, then threw the pen down in anger.

"No," Olford said. He recovered the pen, put it back in Control's good hand. "You keep writing. We'll find her."

Control sighed deeply. "Woon," he said.

"Won't?" Robert guessed.

His friend nodded very slightly.

"Control," McCall said, "we need to know what happened."

The blue eye narrowed again, and Control lifted one finger of his good hand. It was rude, but brilliantly expressive.

"Yes, yes, we know, you had a stroke. Why was the safe open? Were you putting the ring away?"

Control nodded once.

"You collapsed. And Lily took the files?"

Again a single nod.

"She walked right past you on the floor," Olford said, "and cleaned out your safe. The files, the ring, the money. Everything." He shook his head. "There are reasons we don't allow affairs with the operatives, Control."

Control flipped him off, too.

"Where would she go?" Olford asked. "Where would she hide?"

Control gestured to where Simms had just left.

"And other than those places?"

"'no."

"You don't know."

"No."

Olford rubbed his eyes again. "All right. What's she going to do with the files?"

There was no attempt to answer. The question had been too broad.

"Will she release them to the press?" Olford asked.

"No."

"To other governments?"

"No."

"What does she want?"

Control struggled for a long moment to form a single word. "Oush."

"Ouch?" Robert asked. "Is something hurting you?"

Control shook his head. "Oush. See wannn oush."

"She wants out," Olford translated.

There was suddenly sadness in the spymaster's fierce eye. "See jush wann oush."

"All of this," Olford said skeptically, "the marriage, the ring, all of it … just to get out of the Company?"

Control nodded.

"You should have just let her walk in the first place," Robert said dryly.

Control's skin was gray; he was exhausted from the effort of writing and talking. But he had one more word. "Mashur."

"Jason Masur," Olford understood at once. "Oh, yes."

* * *

"Yvette," McCall said, willing his voice to be calm and hearty, "it's Robert."

He regretted, as he did every time he spoke to her, that he could not say, 'It's your father.' She probably would have allowed it; it was technically accurate. But her true father was the man who had raised her from her infancy. Robert sighed. Babies and fathers were all around him.

"Robert?" she said, surprised. Even through the long-distance line he could hear her anxiety. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, nothing's wrong," he reassured her quickly. And then, "I'm sorry, that's not true."

"Something's wrong with Alex," she guessed.

Robert shook his head. "No, no. Alex is fine." Yvette had come down to meet her nephew shortly after the child was born. She took her role as aunt quite fiercely. "It's your godfather."

"Is he dead?" she blurted.

The children of spies, McCall mused. It is always their first question, whether they ask it aloud or not. "No. He's had a stroke."

The young woman paused. Robert could almost hear her reordering her thoughts – great relief that he wasn't dead, then deep new concern about the stroke. "Um … how bad is it?"

"It's significant," McCall answered. "He's almost completely paralyzed on his left side."

"But he'll get better, right?"

"I …we don't think so. At least, not significantly better."

"Oh."

He felt her fear, and loathed himself for lying to her. "Yvette, listen to me. He's stable, he's not in any danger. He might, perhaps, recover a great deal more than we anticipate. It's too soon to tell. But I wanted to keep you informed."

There was another pause, and when Yvette spoke again Robert could hear her tears. "I'll come right away."

"No. Don't do that, not yet."

"But he's …"

"He's in no danger. Give us a few days to let the doctors assess his condition, make some decisions about his care. Things are very complicated right now. Topsy-turvey." He paused, then said his next words with careful emphasis. "Very much through the looking glass, if you know what I mean."

Whoever was listening in on his phone – and McCall had no doubt at all that one of Olford's people was – would not get the reference. But Yvette, being Manon's daughter, would. He hoped.

Through the looking glass, nothing is as it seems. And nothing is as bad as it sounds. But it can't be explained right now. It was an old code, a simple one. One a wise mother might teach her child.

Yvette said, very slowly, "I understand."

"Good. Good." McCall took a long breath. "All right, then. Make some arrangements, come and visit him in a week or so. When it's convenient for you. As I said, he's in no danger. There's no point in dropping everything and rushing. Arrange to take a few days off, get your calendar cleared, and let me know when you'll arrive. All right?"

"All right," she said, still slowly. She was confused, frightened. Robert couldn't blame her. But he couldn't explain the situation either. Not over a tapped phone. "But you'll … you'll let me know if anything changes?"

"I promise I will keep you informed."

She sniffed. "Thank you."

* * *

"Anything?" Olford asked from the doorway.

Simms put down his phone, shook his head. "We've checked all the addresses Control gave us. She hasn't been there."

"As we expected." Olford sighed. "I've got to get back to Washington. I have some bad news to deliver to some very important people. Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep looking. Watch for anything that doesn't seem quite right, no matter how trivial."

Olford started away, then came back. "Why is Dr. Tillman here?"

"Sir?"

"Tillman. He goes to Florida every winter. Why is he here?"

"Oh." Simms nodded knowingly. "His wife got the Florida house in the divorce. He's looking for another one."

"Wasn't the divorce several years ago?"

"He got remarried since then. And re-divorced. Last fall."

"That man changes wives more often than I change my socks."

"Yes, sir. I think that's why he can't afford to retire."

"Don't get married, Simms. It leads to nothing but trouble."

"Voice of experience, sir?"

Olford shook his head. "Let's just say I can't afford to retire, either."

* * *

Control had expected the night to be hard. He had always had trouble sleeping, since his earliest years with the Company, and it was much worse now. To sleep without Lily, after so many nights of her presence, was painful, frightening. If the nightmares came now she would not be there to hold him. Worse, he could not sit up and wake himself; he could not even scream. He expected it to be horrible.

Instead, it was oddly peaceful.

The day had been exhausting. His body felt abused, battered; the numbness was like being tied to a dead thing. It had been dangerous and difficult. But they had gotten through it. Everything had gone exactly as planned.

He lay in the sharp-edged glow of the monitors, with the light from the hall still bright through the open door, and he reviewed everything he had heard and seen that day. The conversations, the questions, the reactions. He searched for any hint of discord, any small clue that there was doubt. He found nothing. Simms was acting Control. Olford was calmly considering his options, while in the background his mind whirled frantically. At this moment, Control mused, there were phone calls going on, regretful, chagrined. In Washington, D.C., they were not sleeping any more peacefully than he was.

He grinned in the darkness, and felt the heavy deadness of half his mouth.

And Lily, where was Lily? He didn't know. He couldn't know. She had gone to ground. She was settled in some secure hiding place, somewhere nearby, perhaps. Perhaps not. None of them knew where she was, and therefore none of them could betray her, even unconsciously. It was likely that she had not decided herself when she walked out of the penthouse. That was safest, wisest.

Lily knew how to hide. He trusted in that absolutely.

He hoped she had gone somewhere nice. She wouldn't have checked into an expensive hotel, probably, but at least somewhere decent. She deserved that. He was assuming it was a hotel, but that might be wrong. She might be in a youth hostel, or she might have rented an apartment.

Or she might be in some dark corner of an abandoned building.

Control frowned to himself. Knowing Lily … but that was before she was pregnant. Now, carrying a child, she would be somewhere reasonably comfortable, somewhere with running water and no vermin. Wouldn't she?

The more he considered the options, the more he was certain she was warm and dry.

Three days.

She would hide wherever she was for three days. Then they had one more frightening part to their plan. One more appearance. One more encounter with the Company. And then she was clear.

It would be a long three days. But when it was over, Lily Romanov and her child would be free of the Company forever.

Whatever happened after that – he had no regrets.

In the semi-darkness of his hospital room, Control smiled again. The numbness of his face was his ally, the price of Lily's freedom and safety. He was deeply grateful for it.

And in the semi-darkness, with Lily's presence soaking through his body from wherever she was, Control at last slept.

* * *

On Tuesday night, McCall called Simms' personal phone – which had been Control's phone. He knew the line would be monitored, but it didn't matter. His call would be broadcast the most of the Company anyhow.

"I've been contacted," he announced grimly.

"Where is she?" Simms asked eagerly. "What does she want?"

"She wants a meeting," McCall said. "Tomorrow, ten o'clock. She wants the Director there."

"That's not possible. The Company does not negotiate with terrorists."

"Don't be ridiculous," Robert snapped. "They negotiate with terrorists all the time. They put them on the payroll on a regular basis. Have Olford there."

Simms hesitated. "Where?"

"At the office."

"Here?"

"Yes. And Simms?"

"Yes?"

"Any trick you're considering – anything the Princeton boys come up with – don't try it. She learned from the best."

"I remember."


	13. Chapter 12

Lily Romanov walked into the office like she owned the place. Two steps behind her, Robert McCall was watchful. There were agents and support staff lining the halls, but no one spoke to her or attempted to block her way.

In an entirely inappropriate corner of his mind, McCall had to admit that her walk alone was enough to make people stare.

She didn't wear high heels often, but she wore black pumps with a stiletto heel now, and she wore them well. She wasn't tall, but between the shortness of her skirt and the height of her heels, she seemed to have legs that stretched out forever.

Madam Olga had dressed her for the occasion, with the express goal of concealment. Though she was still in her first trimester, Lily Romanov's slender frame was already giving hints of her condition. She wore a black suit, leather or something like it, with a very short skirt under a long jacket. The jacket had two buttons and was certainly intended to be worn over a blouse, but under Madam Olga's guidance there was only a wisp of incongruously innocent white lace over the pronounced curves of breasts.

Every man in the room would be looking at her legs or her cleavage. If they'd had any sense, they'd be looking at her eyes instead. But he doubted they had that wisdom. With a bit of luck, no one would notice the subtle new curve at her waistline.

The Princeton boys waited for her in the conference room. They had papers and pens and beverages, as if this was going to be a long meeting, as if there was going to be anything to write down. Though Simms was acting Control, he was not at the head of the table.

Jason Masur had taken that spot.

There was no sign of Olford.

McCall nodded to himself. It was exactly as he'd expected.

Jason did not stand up when the lady entered the room, and so none of the lieutenants did, except Simms. He came around the table and politely held Lily's chair for her at the far end of the table from Masur. There was a second empty chair for Robert, but he stepped back to stand against the wall.

"Can I get you anything?" Simms offered. "Coffee? Water?"

Lily shook her head briefly. "Where's Olford?"

"You'll talk to me," Masur snapped.

The woman glanced up at the surveillance camera allegedly hidden in the corner. "We'll see."

"Where are the files?" he demanded.

Lily sighed and sat back.

"Maybe you don't understand your position," Jason continued. "You are not walking out of here alive unless we get those files back."

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she sighed and pushed back from the table. "You're an idiot," she announced. "I'm not dealing with you. Director Olford," she said without looking toward the camera, "you have thirty seconds before I walk out."

Robert nodded to himself. So far, she was playing it perfectly.

Jason Masur stood up and pressed the button in the intercom beside him. "Take her into custody," he snapped, even before the muscle men had come through the door.

"Not wise," McCall said under his breath.

Lily stood up gracefully. "Gentlemen," she invited, holding her arms out obligingly. "This ought to be entertaining."

"How long until the files drop?" Simms asked.

"Sixty minutes from the time I walked through the front door."

Simms gestured to the men holding her. "Let her go."

"No!" Masur said. "She's bluffing."

"Okay," Lily smiled.

"We can't risk it," Simms insisted.

"We have all her records," Jason insisted. "We know all her hiding places. I've already got people watching most of them. We can hold her and wait to see who goes for what. Nothing to it."

"She's worked for Control for ten years," Simms argued. "And she knows where all _his_ hiding places are. She's had three days to get there and back. You can't possibly have them all covered. You can't possibly even know where they all are. And we already know they're not in any of the places Control told us about."

Jason came around the far side of the table and stood very close to his captive. With great force of will, McCall stayed where he was. "We'll find them," Masur asserted. "In sixty minutes, I'm sure I can _persuade_ her to tell us where the files are."

Lily met his eyes calmly. "Maybe. But the Sandanistas tried for seven weeks and they couldn't do it."

"They didn't have my technology."

Simms cleared his throat. "We are _not_ going to torture one of our own agents."

"She's not our agent any more."

Lily smiled gently. "If you think you can break me, Jason, bring it on. But you better be damned sure. Because if I'm not safely out of this building in fifty-two minutes, all the contents of all those files drop onto the desks of three dozen Reuters reporters in ten different countries, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"We'll see about that," he snarled. He went back to the head of the table and grabbed the phone. "I want a sweep of the neighborhood," he said. "Every building with a sight line to the front door, I want it searched top to bottom. Romanov has a contact out there. I want him found."

McCall sighed. "The girl's right, Jason. You really are an idiot."

"You stay out of this, McCall."

"Do you actually think she has a cohort just standing on the sidewalk across the street, pretending to read a newspaper? She was Control's most trusted courier."

"She will tell us how to call them off."

"I doubt it," Lily said calmly. "But let's go. This is gonna be fun."

The conference room door opened and Michael Olford walked in. "You two, out," he said calmly. The muscle released the courier and left the room.

"I had this under control …" Masur sputtered.

"You're an idiot," Olford snapped. "Sit down and shut up. Miss Romanov." He gestured to her recently-vacated chair. "Please. Let's talk."

Lily nodded graciously and sat down.

Behind her, McCall tensed internally. They'd expected Jason Masur to pull some stunts; he'd reacted exactly as they'd anticipated. But Olford was another matter. It was difficult to predict his response. Everything now depended on whether Lily Romanov could convince him of the story he'd already been told. All their lives hung on her being able to sell it.

The woman sighed, shifted in her chair, revealing yet another half-inch of cleavage. As Olford settled into Jason's chair at the far end of the table, his eyes flickered downward for an instant, than back to her face. But it was enough. It was all the opening she needed.

"So," Olford said calmly. "You have the personal data that Control collected on all of us. How do you intend to use it?"

"I don't," Lily answered with equal ease. "The files are secured in a number of secret locations, inaccessible to anyone but me. If we agree to terms, that's how it will stay. Your secrets will remain secret."

Olford nodded. "You have no intention of giving them back."

"None whatsoever."

"And yet you think you will live to walk out of this room."

"If I don't, most of you won't live until morning."

"I can't believe this!" Jason said. "Just get some damn truth serum in here and make her tell us where the files are. We don't have to talk about this. Give me a blackjack, I'll make her tell me …"

"Masur, shut up!" Olford snapped. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to the woman, his voice level once again. "Whatever data Control thinks he has on me …"

Lily smiled again. It was a soft, cold smile. "Director Olford, you know perfectly well what Control had in your file. And you know that if it's released, your job is immediately forfeit and your life expectancy is extremely short."

The Director sat back, his hands folded on his chest. "Well, well. You're everything they said you were."

"Thank you."

"What is it you want?"

Robert nodded to himself again.

"Three things," Lily said. "None of which will cause you undue distress."

"That remains to be seen. Go on."

"One. When we're done here, I'm going to leave this room, this building, this city. I never want to see any of you again. If you come after me, if I have any reason to think you've come after me, I will burn you all."

Olford nodded, but did not answer.

"Two. I need a little traveling money. Send Lisinger to bring me half the petty cash."

"What?" Jason screeched.

"Shut up!" Olford snapped again. "That can't be much."

Lily shook her head. "Director. I thought we understood each other better than that. It is roughly half a million dollars. Enough to give me a decent start somewhere, since I doubt you'll be sending my pension checks. It'll leave you short here for a while, until you can funnel more in, but it won't cripple your operations. At least, not like I will."

"I cannot believe …"

Olford drew his gun and pointed it at Jason Masur. "One more word. One. And you'll leave this room feet-first."

Masur stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he curled his lip and retreated to a far corner. Olford put the gun on the table. "I'm sorry," he said. "I trust you'll also be keeping the money you stole from Control's safe."

"There was no money in Control's safe."

"Of course there was," Olford said. "Probably several hundred thousand dollars."

Lily looked at him steadily. "Where did that money come from?"

"What?"

"If it's Company money, where is it accounted for?"

The Director paused. Of course the money wasn't on any books anywhere. He couldn't prove it existed at all, and she knew it. He cleared his throat. "Your third condition?"

"Control."

Robert straightened. "He is no part of this arrangement," he warned. "You've done him incalculable harm already. I will not allow you to …"

"McCall," Olford warned. "Let her speak."

"Control," she said again, "I leave to him." She gestured carelessly over her shoulder toward Robert. "He will have complete charge of his care. His rehab or his warehousing or whatever. The Company will pay for his care, entirely, for as long as he lives."

Jason Masur did not speak, but he chuckled, loudly and unpleasantly.

Romanov's eyes narrowed. "If he dies of anything but entirely natural causes, Jason, I will release the data. If he comes to any harm – if he gets a bedsore, if a careless aide cuts him while shaving him – I will burn one of you at random." She paused. "Well, not entirely at random; of course I will start with you."

"You don't have anything on me," Jason sneered. "Not a damn thing."

"Really?" Lily asked. "I'm sure Director Olford would love to know why you ordered Control to divert a team in the Balkans to bring out Pavel Racz."

"He was a source …"

"He calls you Peanut when he's drunk."

Masur went white, half rage, half fear. "A nick-name. It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course. Entirely innocent. I understand. It's just a damn shame the entire upper echelon on the intelligence community is still so very homophobic."

"I am not gay! And you can't prove that I am!"

"I don't have to prove it," Lily answered, with the evil smile returning. "I just have to whisper the suggestion in the right ears and make you deny it. Proof is entirely optional."

"You unspeakable little bitch …"

He started for her. Robert half-moved to block him, but Simms was already on his feet. He grabbed Masur by the lapels and shoved him back. Jason hit the wall and launched himself at the lieutenant; Simms sidestepped his charge and caught him in the back as he passed, slammed him face-down against the table.

Jason Masur's face landed two inches from Director Olford's gun.

Olford sighed. "Get him out of here," he said wearily.

The Princeton boys sat as if they were glued to their chairs. Simms looked around, then twisted Masur's arm behind him and shoved him towards the door.

Predictably, Masur did not go quietly. McCall kept his eyes on Olford. It was very clear to him that Jason Masur had run out of time. His threats against Lily were of no consequence; he would not live long enough to make good on them.

Good. Good.

Olford again settled his attention on the woman at the end of the table. "That's it? That's all you want?"

"That's it," Lily affirmed. "I told you it wouldn't hurt too much."

"Lisinger," the Director said, "go get her money."

The lieutenant stood up. "Sir, I …"

"Just do it."

"Yes, sir." He hurried out.

"It will take a few minutes," Olford said. "Would you like some coffee while we wait?"

"No. Thank you."

"I do have one question."

Lily shifted again, redisplaying her assets. "Ask."

"Why do you care what happens to Control?"

It was unexpected. McCall stood very still, watched very closely. But Lily took a slow breath and nodded. "When I was held captive in Central America, the Company didn't lift a finger to rescue me. Control was ordered to stay away, and he obeyed those orders. But when it over, he arranged for a raid. And all of those men were killed." She leaned forward over the table. "He took care of me, when the rest of you turned your backs in the name of political expedience."

"And yet you broke into his safe, stole all his documents, left him helpless on the floor to die alone."

"There are limits to my loyalty. They end where self-preservation begins. I called for help for him, once I was safely away."

Olford nodded. "I understand you and Control have been having an affair for a number of years."

Lily smiled genuinely this time. She sat back. "Who told you that?"

Olford nodded towards Simms."

"Control always did think he was the clever one," Lily said. "Yes, we've been lovers."

"And yet now that he's crippled, you're just going to take his files and walk away."

"There's a world of difference," she pronounced clearly, "between sleeping with a man and giving up the rest of your life for him."

Olford shook his head. "You are a cold woman."

"If that's a surprise to you, Director, you really haven't been keeping up."

Lisinger returned with a canvas mail bag. "Small bills," he said nervously. "We didn't count it all, but it's about half."

Romanov stood up smoothly. "Gentlemen, Director Olford, it's been a pleasure." She took the bag from Lisinger and handed it to McCall. "Robert will drive me to the train station," she announced. "And from there I will disappear. Don't come after me. It would annoy me."

She looked around the room one last time. Most of the lieutenants, Robert noted, would not meet her gaze. Olford did, and Simms; Russo, surprisingly, and Markland, who looked fearful. McCall wondered exactly what was in their various files. And he wondered even more deeply what each _feared_ was in his file.

Lily turned with magnificent grace and strode from the room. Robert waited a few seconds to see if any of the Princeton boys moved. They did not. With a wearily shrug, he followed her out – carrying her bag of ill-gotten funds like a porter.

* * *

At the curb, McCall opened the passenger door of the Jaguar for Lily. "Well done," he whispered as she slid past him elegantly.

"Did they buy it?"

"Every word," Robert assured her. He glanced over his shoulder as he shut her door. No one came out of the building after them. "Olford it not a fool."

He hurried to deposit the canvas bag in the trunk and get behind the wheel. They still had time to get a sniper to the roof, or to assemble a chase team. Or – no. Olford wasn't that reckless. He believed, at the moment, that the courier had all the data hidden away, and that she had the means to make it public at any moment. If he decided to come after Romanov at all, it would be after a great deal of careful consideration and planning.

By the time Olford decided to act, if he did at all, Lily Romanov would be long gone. If the director was wise, he would not pursue her.

The background and history that Simms had provided would validate that decision.

So far, McCall thought, so good.

He drove to Penn Station and parked illegally at the cab stand. He opened the trunk for Lily and waited, shielding her with his body, while she unpacked the canvas bag. She brought out a red suitcase, one with a strap on one side and wheels on the others, and a brand-new sky blue duffle bag.

Robert slammed the trunk. "I suppose this is goodbye, then," he said sadly.

Lily shook her head. "Let me go change first. Then we'll say our goodbyes."

"As you wish."

He watched as she made her way into the busy train station. As far as he could tell, she was not followed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the Jaguar patiently. According to the plan, she would change into casual clothes, ditch her existing luggage, and leave the city from here.

None of them knew where she would go, probably not even Lily herself. It was the safest way.

The minutes dragged. McCall stuffed his hands in his pockets for warmth; even through his gloves, the cold became biting. A ticket cop – a Parking Enforcement Agent – walked by and eyed him, decided he was an upstanding citizen, but left him with a warning gaze. "Come on, come on," Robert muttered.

How long could it take a woman to transform her entire appearance, anyhow?

Three more minutes, he decided. Then he was going in. Perhaps Olford had been more clever than he'd thought; perhaps they had a team inside, waiting for her. No. They didn't dare. Whatever had been in Control's file on Michael Olford – or whatever the Director thought had been in there – it was deep and dark. He would not risk exposure.

The minutes passed. Robert did not need to look at his watch; he could tell the time precisely in his head, with long experienced honed in the field. Three minutes.

The phone in the Jaguar rang.

McCall sighed. Of course she wasn't coming back out. To be seen with him in her new disguise would be completely foolish. He slid into the car and picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Take care of him for me." Lily's voice cracked with tears.

"I will. I promise."

There was a long pause. "Thank you, Robert," she said.

The phone went dead, and Lily Romanov was gone.


	14. Chapter 13

McCall took the scenic route home, driving around the park and then the Village. No one followed him. Of course, there was no point in following him, now that the girl was gone. The truth was that he wanted time to not think. To not be alone in the quiet and consider all that had happened, all that still had to happen.

They had believed her, Olford and the others. They had not followed her, at least not yet. And he knew this about Lily Romanov: She could hide better than any person he had ever known, himself included. If they had trailed her from the moment she left the office, they might have had a chance. But they hadn't, and she was gone.

One down. One to go.

He sighed deeply and pulled the Jaguar into his parking garage. When it was parked and locked, he opened the trunk and brought out the grocery bag. Just an ordinary brown bag, the kind one might use to carry home eggs and bread and cream for breakfast. This particular brown bag, however, was stuffed with half of the Company's petty cash.

In a few weeks, James Simms would move into a new apartment, one suited to the security demands of his new office. Mickey Kostmayer would go there, in secret and alone, and install a rather large safe. Then McCall would visit, also in secret and alone, and deposit the cash in the safe. Ready cash, money that could not be traced and did not have to be accounted for, was absolutely crucial to a smooth-running operation. Cash on hand was critical to the success of the new Control.

Part of the money in Control's safe had been Company funds, skimmed from various operations over the years and set aside for exactly that purpose. Most of those funds had already been transferred to Simms' ownership, in a bank account that was identified only with numbers, not names. They had skimmed a little off the top, Lily and Control, for travel expenses; the rest they had left to Simms, for bribes or get-aways or whatever else he needed. But it wasn't enough, in Control's view, to make his replacement really independent. With the petty cash from the office, Simms had nearly a million dollars at his disposal. If he ran through that, he was on his own.

The newlyweds didn't need the money. Control had his 'investments' hidden all over the globe, most in numbered accounts, and Lily had access to all of them. Whether Control lived or died, she and her child would never want for anything money could buy.

Robert could not work up the energy to argue the morality of essentially hijacking Company funds. So many rules had been broken anyhow, and so many things that had no price had been lost. Take the money or leave it, he decided. And let the good Lord bless their travels.

He trudged wearily to his apartment. Though neither Control nor Lily had ever spent much time there, it seemed empty without them. The city seemed empty without them.

I am empty without them, Robert thought. Go and find your home and fill it with children. Go and find your happy ever after. I wish you all good things. But I will miss you both bitterly.

He put the money, still in the grocery bag, into his own safe. Then he went to make a lonely cup of tea.

* * *

Simms called Kostmayer in for a mission briefing late that afternoon. It was perfectly straightforward, a matter in Cyprus again. "I hate Cyprus," Mickey complained. "It sucks every time I go there."

"I know. But you're the expert. You've been there most often when it was hot."

"Yeah. I set foot in the country and it blows up in my face."

Simms nodded absently. "Do the best you can. Call for help if you need it."

Kostmayer grunted. "So what's the deal? Are you gonna be the new boss?"

"That's up to the Directors."

"Yeah. But they've already decided."

Simms nodded, just once. "Probably."

"Nice promotion."

The new likely-Control looked him squarely in the eye. "It's sweet, yes."

"Uh-huh." Mickey stood up. "In that big book of his, where he wrote 'Kostmayer = Cyprus'? Just erase that for me, huh?"

"Do what you can," Simms said again.

Kostmayer sighed. "The names change, but the game stays the same." He grumbled all the way out of the office."

* * *

Mickey passed the word casually to his wife; she passed it on to Becky McCall.

* * *

Becky visited Control that evening, as she had every second night since his stroke. He'd been somewhat more willing to eat her home cooking than the hospital food.

"I made you some pudding," she said cheerfully, though he rarely answered. "Butterscotch, right?"

He brightened a little. "eel otch?"

"Real Scotch? No. Sorry. It's a new recipe, I've never tried it before. I like the way it came out, but it's awfully sweet."

His single seeing eye lit with interest. "eet?"

"Sweet. Maybe too sweet. Here, try it."

He let her deposit a spoonful of the confection into his mouth. "eet," he confirmed.

"Too sweet?"

"ush ight."

* * *

Their careful planning and clever code words turned out to be unnecessary. Director Olford himself came to visit Control again that evening.

It was late, after visiting hours, but of course no one tried to stop the Director. The lights were dim, but Control was not sleeping when Olford walked to his bedside. He looked up with his one eye bright and sharp, the other dull and lifeless. Then he reached for his pen and wrote, 'Come to shoot me in person?'

Olford read the note and chuckled humorlessly. "I would if I could, Control. But your lover won't allow it."

Control's eye narrowed. "Lily," he pronounced with great care and difficulty.

"She came to see us today. She left with half our petty cash and all of our balls."

The patient made a noise that was either a laugh or a snort.

"She says," Olford continued, "that we're to take special care of you for the rest of your life."

"'itch."

"That was my assessment, yes." Olford paced the room slowly, calmly. "Tillman recommended a facility a few hours from here. It's quiet, secure. Very nice, he says. You're going there as soon as they can find you a bed."

There was another grunt.

"I'm not asking your opinion. It's done. But I need to know this, Control. Romanov said that if we followed her rules, she'd keep the files hidden. Can she be trusted?"

When he turned, the old spymaster was glaring at him.

"I know, I know," Olford said. "She took your files and left you helpless on the floor. But will she keep her bargain?"

Control thought about it for a very long moment. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded. Then he looked away.

"Good." He shrugged. "It's not like we had much choice. What about Simms?"

Control turned his face again toward his visitor. "Wha?'

"Simms. If the other Directors approve, and they will, I'm going to give him your job."

Again the old spy thought for a long moment, and again he nodded.

"I thought so. I have to ask, Control, what did you -" He stopped because his portable phone rang. "Excuse me," he said politely before he answered it. "Yes?" He listened for a moment. "Are you certain it's him?" Then, "When did this happen?" He waited for another brief answer. "And you're certain?" Olford shook his head. "Well. Is there any family we need to inform?"

Control picked up his pen and wrote a brief note.

"All right," Olford continued. "Make sure the other Directors are notified. I'll be on the redeye tonight, I'll handle the other details in the morning. Thank you for calling."

He tucked his phone away and turned back to Control. "Unfortunate. It seems that Jason Masur took the afternoon flight back to Washington. He was picked up at the airport by an acquaintance, a Serbian national. And they've had a tragic car accident."

Control blinked. "Oo urvivorsh?"

"No survivors. Very sad. Very sad."

The spy grunted. "'uspect."

"Me?" Olford shook his head. "I suppose I might be a suspect, yes. But fortunately I was here in New York, visiting a sick friend when the accident occurred."

The right side of Control's mouth turned up in a bitter smile. "'ice."

"Yes. Well. I should be on my way. I don't know that I'll see you again, Control. It has been a privilege and an education to work with you."

The piercing blue eye said that Control was not impressed by the brief show of sentiment. He pushed his note toward the Director. "Shimmsh."

"For Simms?"

"Yesh."

Olford picked up the note and read it. "'Good luck. Don't sleep with couriers.' Sound advice, I'm sure." He tucked the note into his pocket. "I was going to ask you, Control, how in the hell a man as intelligent as you got involved in something as stupid as an affair with a courier."

Again Control turned his face away.

"I _was_ going to ask, but I don't need to now. I sat across the table from her today. She played me like a cheap drum. She wasn't afraid of me. She wasn't afraid of any of us. All these very powerful men around the table, and she didn't give a damn. It was very – attractive. Irresistible."

The Director shrugged. "It was a damn stupid thing, Control. But I might have done the same thing."

Control looked back, his mouth twisted in bitterness. "It 'idn't en well."

"No. I guess it didn't."

Olford started out, but stopped at the door.

"What was in my file, Control?"

For a moment, Control studied him. Then he said, "aygo."

"San Diego?"

"Esh."

"I thought so. Miserable bitch never could keep her mouth shut."

Olford thought, as he left the room, that he heard Control chuckle behind him.

* * *

Five days later, Lily Romanov stood at the foot of her grave and stared blankly at the headstone.

No, not her grave. Rose Shepherd's grave. There had been no body to bury in it, but they'd given her her own plot and a headstone anyhow. It was beautiful.

There were no weeds on the grave. The grass was neatly trimmed about the gleaming white marker. It was large, with fancy elegant angels carves on its face. There was a miniature bush at each corner, neatly trimmed. Probably covered with roses, come summer.

Lily couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry or throw up.

She heard a car behind her, but didn't bother to look up. She was only feet from the road; cars came and went, doors opened and closed. Suddenly there was a voice at her elbow. "Excuse me, Miss?"

Lily jumped and spun. A sheriff's deputy stood five feet away, his feet wide, his weight balanced,. He'd been startled by her turn; his right hand rested on his gun, still in its holster.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "You startled me."

"Yes, ma'am, sorry about that." His hand came up from the gun, rested on his hip. "That your car over there?" He gestured towards the edge of the road, where his patrol car was parked behind her rental.

The woman nodded. "It's a rental. Avis. I have all the paperwork and everything in the car, if you want to see it."

The deputy shook his head. "That's okay. It's just we don't see many out-of-state plates around here. You lost?"

With a little start, Lily realized that she recognized the man. He was about her age, maybe a little younger. Motts, his name badge said. Jeff Motts? She frowned, concentrating. No, Jeff was a little older than her. His younger brother was George. Unless this was Henry, who was younger still …

He was still staring at her with official, patient concern.

"I'm not lost," she answered. "At least, I don't think so." She pointed back up the road. "North there, I can get back in the freeway?"

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't want to come right out and ask what this stranger was doing in his part of the county; she wasn't doing anything illegal. But he wasn't leaving until he got an answer, either.

Lily wondered if he thought he recognized her, too.

"I'm on my way to Atlanta," she explained. "My brother's getting married this weekend. But I started feeling a little queasy, I thought I'd better stop and get some air. This was such a pretty little cemetery … I'm not trespassing, am I? I didn't mean to."

"No, no, you're fine," the deputy assured her. Lily could see him relax, mostly satisfied with her explanation. "Long drive, to Atlanta."

She smirked. "He just made up his mind on Monday. I tried to get a flight, but everything was booked or they wanted a thousand dollars for tickets."

The deputy nodded back. "You haven't been drinking or anything, have you?"

Lily shook her head. "No, I'm, uh …" She brushed her hand over her lower belly, over her jacket, and shrugged.

Motts – she was pretty sure this was George – was suddenly visibly sympathetic. "Animal crackers."

"Hmmm?"

"You need animal crackers. My wife swears by them. Soda crackers are too salty. Animal crackers now, and ginger snaps later, when you get a sour stomach."

She grinned self-consciously. "I'll remember that. How many children do you have?"

"Four. Daughters. God help me."

"You could keep trying."

"Oh, sure. Then I could have five or six daughters. I never get in the bathroom as it is."

Behind them, the deputy's car radio crackled for a status report. "I gotta go," he said reluctantly. "I hope you feel better."

"Thank you."

Motts walked back to his car. "Miss?" he called. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

Lily smiled warmly at him, nodded. "Thank you," she said again.

She watched as he did an illegal u-turn and drove back the two blocks to the center of town. Then he made another turn, parked in front of the diner, and went in.

Lily turned back to the grave marker. Same old town. Same old people. She shouldn't have come here. Someone might recognize her, might at least ask questions. She was supposed to be disappearing, not re-appearing from the grave.

No. Angelic headstone aside, this town had forgotten all about Rose Shepherd and her short, cruel little life.

She still felt queasy. She walked slowly, making a casual circuit of the graveyard. Family names on old headstones; she knew them all. New graves in the baby section; John Szerinski and his wife Elizabeth (no doubt the former Beth Marzic) had lost twins last month, stillborn. Lily's hand fell to her belly again, unconsciously protective. You stay put, little one, she urged mentally. You stay, you grow. I'll try not to give you too many bumps to contend with.

She wasn't sure that her stress or grief could cause a miscarriage, but she was damn well sure that all those hormones wouldn't do her child any good. Try to stay calm, she counseled herself. Stay positive.

Okay, I'm pretty positive that the one love of my life is going to die and you will never know your father. So I brought you back to the town where the most horrible events of my life happened. Just to ramp up the misery a little. Next stop, Nicaragua.

No, she wasn't going there. And she knew herself well enough to know why she was in Black River. She was immunizing herself against grief, against despair. Reminding herself of what she'd been through, what she'd survived, so that in case Andrew died she'd know where her strength was.

That, and maybe in some impossibly naïve was she was looking for closure here.

Lily shook her head. What'd you expect, a written apology and a parade? They don't even know what happened to you.

Still, she mused, strolling back towards Rose's gleaming white headstone, it's a nice marker. They didn't have to do that.

"Hey, lady?"

Lily spun, and then looked down. A child stood at her elbow, a badly startled girl of perhaps eight or nine. She was holding out a box of animal crackers, Barnum's in the circus box. The girl swallowed uncertainly. "My dad said to give these to you."

"I'm sorry I startled you," Lily said. "You startled me."

"Sorry. Here."

Lily took the box gently. "Thank you," she said warmly. She opened the box, and the inner wax liner, and offered one to the child.

The girl thought about it, then took one and examined it. "Zebra," she announced.

Lily took out her own cracker. "Tiger," she countered, biting its head off. "What's your name?"

"Sarah Rose Mott," the girl replied briskly. "You okay? You look all white."

"Fine," Lily answered faintly. She gestured, moved to a sunny bench, and sat down.

The girl took another cracker. "Monkey," she said. "They're my favorite. The Sarah is for my Grandma Sarah," she chatted on, as if she hadn't interrupted herself, "but the Rose is for her." She gestured towards the white headstone.

"Oh." Lily felt as if her head were suddenly full of air, light and breezy and unable to form a coherent thought.

"My dad went to school with her, and my mom, too. My dad says she was the smartest girl he ever knew."

Lily took a cracker and slowly bit its head off.

"She died when she was ten years old," Sarah informed her, over still another circus animal. "In a big fire. There used to be a gas station. David Balas says they only found little pieces of bone to bury. They couldn't tell who was who, they just had to bury them all together. He's awful cute."

"David is?" Lily asked. The child's rambling had given her a moment to catch her breath, and had given her something to ground her.

"Uh-huh. He's in fifth grade."

"Older men. Always a good choice."

The girl looked sidelong at her to see if she was teasing. "You're funny."

"Hmm." Lily selected a cracker. "Monkey. Here, you have it."

"Thanks." The girl nibbled tidily at its tail. "Are you gonna have a baby? My mom eats these when she's gonna have a baby."

"So I hear." Lily picked out another cracker, a lion.

"Uh-huh," Sarah went on, ignoring the non-answer, "these at first, and then those nasty ginger snaps. They're yucky. I'll be ten next year. I hope I don't die, too."

The woman sat up straight. "What?"

Sarah sighed, exasperated at having to explain herself. "Rose died when she was ten," she repeated patiently. "I'm named for her. So I think I might die when I'm ten, too."

"Oh." Lily took a deep breath. "I don't think it works that way."

"But it might."

"I think that since Rose is your second name, you get to multiply the years. Ten times ten."

"A hundred years?" the girl mused. "I never thought about it that way." She shook her head, and in a remarkably adult voice announced, "I'm going to have to change my plans."

Lily nodded, pleased. They ate crackers slowly, in companionable silence, for several minutes.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Sarah asked.

The woman considered. "I don't know. I've never met one. Do you?"

"Sometimes I think she's still here," the girl answered. Her voice dropped. "Sometimes I think she watches me, because I was named for her. And then when I don't know the answer in school or I screw up or something, I think she gets mad because I'm so dumb."

Lily caught her breath, and grasped the front of the bench with both hands. She wanted sharply to grab the child and hug her as tightly as she could – but that would only scare her to death. Poor thing, poor little thing, she thought miserably. She rocked slightly, considering her answer. "I don't think that's her," she finally said, carefully. "I think that's just you putting yourself down and I think you should stop it. If you knew all the answers all the time, you wouldn't need to go to school, now would you?"

The girl sniffed. "No," she finally agreed, grudgingly. "But I still think she's here."

"Maybe," Lily answered. "But I don't think she watches to see what you do wrong. I think she watches over you."

"Huh?"

Lily stalled for another tiger. "Did you ever … were you ever about to do something, and at the last minute a little voice inside your head said, 'you'll get hurt' or 'you'll get in trouble' so you didn't do it?"

"Oh, like the time Missy Schwermer dared us to jump off the top of the jungle gym? And I didn't do it and she called me a chicken, but Gina Balas did and she cracked her head open?"

Lily nodded. "She David's sister?"

"Huh? No, his cousin. But yeah, there was like a little voice then."

"Well, maybe that was Rose, trying to keep you safe."

"You think so?" Sarah asked eagerly. "Like a guardian angel?"

"Well, maybe."

"Wow."

Lily made a swift mental course correction. "But she can only do so much, you know. You've got to listen to that little voice, and you've got to think and pay attention to what's around you. And know when to ask for help."

"You really think she's watching over me?"

"If I had died young," Lily said gently, "and I had someone named for me, I wouldn't care if they did all their homework or if they flunked a math quiz. I'd just want them to be safe and happy, like I never got a chance to be. Wouldn't you?"

The girl chewed thoughtfully. "Wow. I've got a guardian angel."

Lily shifted. "It might be better if you didn't tell anybody."

"Well, yeah." Sarah looked at her as if she were crazy. "But still, wow." She peered into the circus wagon box. The last animal crackers were gone. "I gotta go," she announced suddenly. She stood and ran to the edge of the cemetery.

Lily stood and walked slowly back to Rose's grave. She hadn't expected any closure here, hadn't expected to find peace, but there it was. She was surprised at herself, and pleased with the way she'd handled the girl. Her hand strayed again to where her own child rested, a great many of her smaller fears suddenly at rest. "Maybe we'll be all right after all, little love."

"Hey." This time the girl actually tugged at her sleeve. Lily turned, and Sarah studied her face for a long, long minute. "You're her, aren't you." There was no question in her tone.

Lily took a deep breath. She couldn't lie to the child, not now, but she couldn't tell her the truth, either. What would a guardian angel say? "You are going to have such a good life," Lily promised her warmly. "Stay safe, and use your head, and the whole world will be full of wonderful things for you." She touched the stunned child's cheek, kissed her on the forehead. Then she turned and walked back to her car.

"Will I ever see you again?" Sarah called after her.

Lily turned, smiled, shook her head. No, she would never come back here. She would never need to.

She got in the car and drove on to the rest of her life.

Sarah Rose Motts turned slowly, confidently, and walked joyfully on the rest of hers.


	15. Chapter 14

Control's days passed slowly, each fading into the next. He had physical therapy in the morning, occupational therapy in the afternoon. It was idiotic, and he growled and snarled through it. Dr. Tillman kept him carefully paralyzed with well-placed and well-timed injections in his spine and arm. McCall visited daily, Scott and Becky a few times a week. Kostmayer and his wife stopped in on Sunday afternoon. Simms came to visit at irregular intervals. No one else from the Company went near the hospital.

He watched game shows and soap operas and crime drama. He did not watch the news, though his orderlies frequently offered to change the channel for him. He knew himself too well; something would blow up somewhere and he'd be tempted to step in and help one last time. Whatever happened in the world now was Simms' problem. It had to be. Even if he could have stepped anywhere, his interference would only undermine the new Control's authority.

Every day that passed with no word of Lily was a relief. Every hour that drifted away without her capture was a blessing. Give her one day's worth of a head start and she would be hard to find. Give her two weeks, and you would never find her.

Late in the second week, the Directors officially named Simms the new Control.

The man who had been Control for so many years received this news – directly from Simms – with remarkable calm. In fact, oddly enough, he seemed to be smiling. But that was probably just a spasm.

* * *

Waiting, in Robert McCall's opinion, was the hardest part of any operation.

It was definitely a case where no news was good news, and he welcomed the quiet as a sign of success. But he was restless nonetheless. His phone, which sometimes rang off the wall with desperate or foolish people, remained stubbornly silent. He checked that his ad was running properly, that the phone line worked correctly.

No one in New York needed him, now that he needed desperately to be needed.

He spent time with Mira Kalinich, in his apartment, and with Scott and Becky and the baby in theirs. Alex was growing at an alarming rate. Two days away from him brought new developments, new changes that Robert marveled at. He wondered how he had ever thought he could raise a child without seeing him every day and expect him to grow into anything but a stranger.

He bitterly regretted Scott's childhood, the childhood he had missed. But he reveled in Alexander's.

Plus, his daughter-in-law fed him within an inch of his life.

He read Mrs. Nabakowski's marvelous journals from cover to cover, reverently turning the aging paper, squinting over the neat, fading letters. They were indeed treasures, and he began to think of ways to share them with the wider world.

He checked on Control daily, and he wondered about Lily Romanov. She was somewhere, traveling. Looking over her shoulder every step of the way. When she reached her destination safely, they would proceed with the next phase. But it would be another week, at least. It was maddening, but it was the safest way.

A dozen times a day, he found himself pausing, gazing south. As if all his good wishes could urge her on, as if his silent prayers could carry her a little further down her road. He was a sentimental old fool.

He sent his wishes and prayers south anyhow.

* * *

Yvette arrived on an evening flight and hurried into Robert's arms. "Nothing's changed, right? He's still okay?"

"He's as well as can be expected," McCall promised her. "Let's get your bags."

As they walked arm-in-arm down the concourse, he said, quietly, "There's a man in a black jacket following us. There are probably others as well. Don't be alarmed. They will follow you the entire time you're in the city."

"Why?" Yvette asked, worried despite his assurances.

"I'll explain when we get to the car."

"The looking glass," Yvette said. "How different are things?"

Robert chuckled. "I think you may be quite pleased with how different."

"Pleased?"

He patted her arm. "Just wait."

Yvette managed to wait until they were not only in the car, but past the pay booth of the parking garage. "All right," she demanded as Robert turned the Jaguar onto the main road, "spill it. What's going on?"

"Well," Robert answered slowly, "it's hard to know where to begin."

"At the beginning," Yvette snapped. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything."

McCall nodded. "That's probably best. Ten years ago in Budapest there was a blizzard."

"Robert," the young woman beside him warned, "my godfather has had a stroke. I am in no mood for games."

"Your godfather," McCall answered calmly, "has _not_ had a stroke."

"What?"

"Though nearly everyone thinks he has."

"Are you telling me …"

"I will tell you everything," Robert promised. "Just listen for a moment. From the beginning. There was a blizzard in Budapest. Your godfather was there. He met a young courier, and they began a love affair."

"Stop."

"I thought you wanted me to tell you everything."

"My godfather had an affair with a what?"

"A courier. One of his employees. A specialist in getting things into and out of other countries."

"Lily Romanov."

Robert grinned. "Yes."

"My godfather had an affair with Lily Romanov."

"Yes." McCall waited, letting her wrap her thoughts around that idea.

Yvette had already jumped ahead. "He's _still_ having an affair with Lily Romanov."

"Yes. Well, no, technically."

"Technically."

"They were married a few weeks ago."

Yvette was silent. Then she said, "Can I open the window? I feel a little …"

Robert quickly opened the window on her side. She turned her face to the rushing fresh air. After a few minutes, he said, "What are you stuck on?"

"All of it," Yvette admitted. She shook her head. "He loves her?"

"Very much."

There was another long pause. "She's good for him."

It wasn't a question. Robert answered anyhow. "In my opinion, she's very good for him." He took a deep breath. "And she's carrying his child."

Yvette put both hands over her face. "They've been having an affair for ten years. Now they're married. She's pregnant. And he's had a stroke." She took her hands away. "But he hasn't had a stroke, you said. So what really _is_ going on?"

"He's leaving the Company."

"Control's can't …" Yvette stopped. "With Lily. And the baby."

"Yes."

She stared out the open window for a long time. When Robert glanced at her, there were tears rolling down her cheeks. "Yvette, I know this is very difficult …"

"It's wonderful," Yvette said. She began to cry in earnest. "Oh, Robert, it's so wonderful for him!"

McCall brought a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Then he drove in silence, content to let her cry before he laid out the whole complicated plan.

* * *

Richard Dyson leaned against his vintage red Chevy convertible and watched the twin-engine prop plane roll up the dusty runway. It stopped thirty yards away from the cinder block building that served as the airport terminal. A tall, skinny teen pushed the battered aluminum stairs to the door of the plane as it creaked to a stop. After a long pause, the captain opened the door and the passengers filed out.

Dyson's eyes narrowed behind his dark glasses. The first several off the plane were obviously not his objective – a young couple probably on their honeymoon, an old native farm couple, a group of men in search of bikinis and umbrella drinks. Scott McCall's phone call had been maddeningly oblique. All Dyson had really learned was that Robert was sending him someone – a female someone – for safekeeping. "She'll be wearing something expensive and green," Scott had said by way of description. The boy had been cagey, dropping code words into a conversation mostly about his new son; he'd been coached, extensively. The fact that Scott had been drafted to make the call at all worried Dyson. It meant that Robert was very, very worried about the mystery woman's security.

Well, Richard thought, folding his arms over his chest, whoever she was would be safe enough here. And if Robert wanted this one favor, Dyson was more than willing to help.

It undoubtedly had something to do with Northern Control. No, Dyson corrected himself, just Control; the two commands had been consolidated after his retirement. Even here, at the far end of the world and years from the game, Dyson heard rumors and whispers. He knew his counterpart had been obliged to marry an agent to keep her from testifying against him. Then he heard whispers of a stroke or a heart attack, either mild or catastrophic. Then silence, and worried musings about the sudden silence. Something had happened, something big, something that had the highest powers scared.

McCall and his mystery woman were undoubtedly smack in the middle of it.

A young woman stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around. Something about her made Dyson immediately certain that she was the one he was waiting for. She moved down the steps, her hand soft and elegant on the railing, and the old spymaster had the sudden irrational notion that he'd been waiting for her his whole life.

She wore a simple blue cotton dress, flat white sandals, a straw hat and sunglasses. She had a largish bag over her shoulder. She wasn't tall; her figure seemed uncommonly curvaceous for her slender frame. But it was the way she moved that made Dyson wish he'd worn a tie to meet her. She walked like she owned the place, with benevolent disinterest. She moved liked a queen.

Madam Onassis flitted across Dyson's mind as he watched her walk towards him, and also Mrs. Peron. He had met them both. But the young woman didn't quite fit that mold. She was more Hepburn – no, more Bacall. Yes, he decided, nodding in satisfaction, Lauren Bacall. But not exactly.

The young woman, whoever she was, was definitely her own woman.

She stopped in front of him and regarded him calmly from behind her sunglasses.

Dyson kept his arms folded. "You have something to show me?" he rumbled.

The woman raised one hand to the neck of her dress and undid one button. She pulled the collar back to reveal both cleavage and a massive, deep green emerald nestled there.

"Hello, gorgeous," Richard breathed. He tore his gaze back up to the woman's eyes. "And hello to you, too."

She gave him a bare smile. "Thank you for meeting me." Her hand came out. "I'm Lily."

He took the hand, brought it to his lips without bowing. "I'm Richard. You have other luggage?"

Lily shook her head.

"Good girl." He turned and opened the car door for her, took her bag and put it into the back seat. He made no attempt to conceal his look at her legs as she got in. To her credit, she took the attention as a compliment.

When they were safely on the road away from the airport, and when he was sure they were not being followed, Dyson took one hand off the wheel and put his arm along the back of the seat. "I'm not even going to ask who you are and why you're here. What I do need, though, is to know if you're likely to be followed, and by whom."

"No, and by the Company," she answered promptly.

"Lovely." He glanced over at her. "That emerald didn't come from McCall, did it?"

"No."

Richard sighed. "Please tell me you're not Control's cupcake."

"I'm not," she said. "Not any more."

Dyson put his hand back on the wheel. "Not any more." He shook his head, looked at her again. "What are you now?"

She held his gaze. "I'm Andrew's wife."

He whistled softly and looked ahead at the road for a long time. Andrew's wife. _Andrew's_ wife. He couldn't remember that last time he'd even heard that name. There was way, way more to this situation than he'd expected.

"How bad was the stroke?" he finally asked.

"As bad as we needed it to be."

Dyson nodded. "I imagine he'll be along to collect you, then."

Lily nodded grimly. "That is the plan, yes. But it may be … some time. Months, probably. If it's a problem, my staying with you that long …"

"Shhhh."

She said, very quietly, "Thank you."

"It'll give us a chance to get to know each other." He grinned crookedly at her. "I have more money than he does, you know."

He half-expected to her be angry. Instead she was silent. Then she glanced around again. "I do kinda like the car," she admitted.

Dyson nodded encouragingly. But when he glanced at her again, he could see her misery in her profile. Brave front and grace aside, the young woman was scared to death. Andrew's _wife._

The poor little thing was actually in love with that old bastard.

Richard sighed heavily and looked back to the road.

* * *

They had dispensed with visible security men in the rehab wing, though Robert was certain there were still plenty of guns roaming the premises. He signed in at the desk and made his way unhindered to Control's room.

Yvette had been there earlier in the day. She had come every afternoon since her arrival. The minders around Control were used to her; they ignored her now much as they ignored Robert.

A male nurse was feeding the former spymaster something that looked like baby food with a spoon. He was fairly tall and broad-shouldered, with no neck at all and a magnificent mustache. Though he had no proof at all, McCall was absolutely certain he worked for Olford.

Control looked as gray and gaunt as ever, and his right eye sparkled with anger at every bite.

"Well, old friend," Robert said heartily. "What are we having for dinner tonight? Carrots?"

"Squash," the nurse answered.

Control tried to spit his next mouthful at the nurse, but only succeeded in pushing it past his lips and having it dribble down his chin. The nurse wiped the spill away with a practiced hand and continued his methodical feeding. "He could do this by himself, with his right hand, but he won't."

"Yes, yes," Robert said sympathetically. "He can be quite stubborn when he puts his mind to it."

Control glared at him.

"I have some good news," McCall continued cheerfully. "A bed has come open at the facility outside Albany that I was telling you about. As soon as Dr. Tillman clears you, we'll set up the transport."

"'any?" Control asked.

"The Pines?" the nurse asked. "I've heard about that place. It's supposed to be really nice." He gestured with the spoon. "Way better food than this place, anyhow."

Control gave him an eloquent look, with an obvious comment about the food.

"It has a very good reputation," Robert agreed. "I think you'll enjoy it there."

"Except for the snow, of course," the nurse said. "They get a ton of snow there, I heard."

"It's not like he'll be going out much."

The nurse nodded. "We're almost done here." He spooned up more squash. Control's good hand shot out and caught his wrist, pushed it firmly away.

"See?" the nurse protested. "You're perfectly able to feed yourself."

"Just leave it," Robert said. "I'll see if I can persuade him to eat a little more."

"Uh-huh. Good luck with that." But the nurse tidied up the tray and pushed it back a little. He went out in the hall and busied himself with the chart.

Robert glanced after him. He was still easily within earshot. Then he looked back to Control. "I've also had a letter today from Dyson. He asked about you."

His old friend watched him closely, but he only grunted in response.

McCall brought the letter out and unfolded it, skimmed the contents. "He's been quite busy with his collections, he says," he continued. "He found a baby-blue Pontiac Bonneville at auction. Apparently he got a good price. Just what he needs, another antique car."

Control grunted again. Robert could feel the impatience in him, the desperate haste that he had almost no way to express. He enjoyed the guilty pleasure of it. He wouldn't have many more opportunities. "He also located a lost Picasso in Rome last month, but he hasn't been able to have it authenticated. Oh, and he's added two more books to add to his collection. One is an autographed first edition copy of Louisa May Alcott's _Rose in Bloom_. And apparently he found a fragment of a hand-written manuscript of Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises_."

Their eyes met. Then Control turned his head, very slowly, turned his face away and closed his eyes. He took a deep shaky breath. Robert continued to read from the letter, trivia about antiquities Dyson had managed to buy, another painting, a piece of modern sculpture. His friend was not listening, but the nurse in the hall was – with steadily decreasing attention. It had been that way for weeks; McCall had visited every day and talked largely about nothing. Just faithfully supporting his crippled friend through a difficult time. Two old war horses.

He had brought messages of various sorts, hidden in code in his words, but none was more important than these few words.

Control turned back to him. His eye brimmed with tears; he wiped them away impatiently with his good hand. Under his breath, through twisted lips, he said, "Let's go."

"It's all in motion," Robert promised in a whisper. "Give me three more days."

Another deep breath, steadier this time. "Yes."

McCall smiled tightly. "Oh, yes."

* * *

On moving day, Robert and Yvette went together to the hospital. Yvette packed up her godfather's few belongings; at his grunted direction, she threw out the flowers that were faded and found old ladies to give the fresher ones to. Then they waited.

Dr. Tillman came in, trailed by an orderly. "All right, let's get your malingering ass out of here … oh, I'm sorry, young lady. I didn't realize he had guests."

"Hello," Yvette said.

"This is Yvette Marcel," Robert said. "She's Control's goddaughter. This is Dr. Tillman."

"I've heard that name before."

"He's put us all back together, one time or another," Robert told her.

"That's me. Physician to the secret stars." He glanced at the orderly. "Well, we can wait a few minutes if you'd like to stay and visit."

"No, no," McCall said. "Yvette's going to drive up to The Pines with me, help us get him settled in."

Control waved his hand vaguely. "oo need."

Yvette took his hand again in both of hers. "I don't care if there's no need. I want to do this. I want to see where you'll be, make sure it meets my approval."

Her godfather grunted; if he could have spoken clearly, it probably would have been an expletive.

"Right," Tillman said. "Well, it never hurts to get a woman's approval. Especially such a pretty one."

Control freed his hand to make an obscene gesture at the doctor.

* * *

It took a little time to get him loaded into the ambulance, secured and comfortable. "I'll ride in back with him," Tillman announced.

"Suit yourself," the paramedic told him. "It pounds the hell out of your kidneys."

"Good thing I don't have any left." He glanced toward McCall and the young woman, waiting nearby. "But since you mentioned it, I better go drain the pipes before we leave." He took the medic's arm and drew him towards the cab. "Do you smoke cigars?"

"Uh … sometimes. Special occasions."

"I have some very excellent ones I got from a friend." He drew three cigars from his pocket, gestured for the driver to join them. "Really, they are amazingly good." He gestured his head to McCall, then drew the two further away and produced his lighter. "You enjoy. I'll be back in a minute."

"Oh, Godfather." Yvette was already weeping when she climbed into the back of the ambulance.

"Shhh," Control answered. He waited until Robert slammed the door, then took her hand in both of his. The left was stiff, weak, but more than half functional again; Tillman has stopped his paralyzing injections days before. "See, it'sh not oo bad."

She looked at him, startled. Robert had told her the entire plan, but somehow seeing his left hand move had made it real. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yvette, my shweet girl … I love her."

Her tears started afresh. "But we may never see you again …"

"You'll shee ush again. In a year or two, when we're shettled, we'll find a way."

"But …"

"Yvette," Robert said gently, "it's far too late to turn back now."

She wiped at her eyes impatiently. "I know. I know. It's just … to give up everything, to leave everything, everyone … you're sure? You love her this much?"

Control's eyes glittered with a smile. "She is my life."

She nodded. "Then I wish you a very good life together, Godfather." She leaned to kiss him on each cheek. Then she pushed past Robert, climbed out of the ambulance and shut the door behind her.

"Well," McCall said. "Here we are, at the crossroads once again."

Control nodded. "It's been a good run, hashn't it, old shon?"

"You're still mushing your s's."

"It'll pash."

"Yes."

Control took a breath. "It hash not always been … the way I wanted it. You know that, don't you?"

"Are you telling me you have regrets?" McCall asked with sad amusement.

"Many. And thingsh I should … apologishe for. To you, eshpecially."

"There's not enough time in the world for all the apologies you own me, Control."

"I know."

Robert shrugged. "So. I will accept this one as a blanket apology for all your many past sins. Your many, many past sins."

"You are very noble, old shon."

McCall patted his shoulder one last time. "Be safe, my friend. And be happy." He considered, smiled wryly. "And be fruitful. It will serve you right."

"Thank you, Robert. For everything."

"_Por nada_," McCall said. He gave his friend one last pat. They were out of words.

He climbed out of the ambulance, and held the door for Tillman to climb in.


	16. Chapter 15

As soon as the ambulance reached the highway, Tillman pulled the little window to the cab closed, telling the driver and attendant they didn't need to hear him snore. He unstrapped Control and helped him sit on the bench beside him. Then he opened the opened the identical bench on the far side of the stretcher and helped Frank Donovan sit up in the coffin-like storage place where he'd been confined. "Took you long enough," he complained gruffly.

"I didn't expect the woman," Tillman said by way of apology. "They always slow things down. She's pretty, though."

"Shtay away from her, Doug," Control growled. "You're old enough to be her grandfather."

Tillman nodded pleasantly. "Yes. But we won't go into the topic of inappropriately younger women, now will we?"

"Leasht I married her."

"And that makes the ten years before all right, does it?"

"Get me the hell out of this box!" Donovan demanded.

With some mostly one-handed help from Control, Tillman got him onto the stretcher, covered with blankets, and strapped in safely. He retrieved a duffle bag from the end of the storage box and managed to get Control into a shirt and jacket and shoes. They'd been able to sneak pants on him at the hospital, under the stretcher blankets.

There was a wallet in duffle as well, stocked with the various identity cards of a perfectly normal man, a great deal of cash, and a gun. The gun and the wallet Control put in his inside jacket pockets, along with one pile of cash. Then he zipped the bag shut.

Tillman reached into the space one last time and brought out a stout wooden cane.

"I don't need that," Control protested.

"You will for a while. Even with the PT, your leg and arm are going to be damned weak for a while. Don't try to run, you'll just fall."

"And the face?"

"The Botox is starting to wear off already. Once it goes, it goes fast. By this time next week it should be mostly gone. You may have some lingering numbness, but just in spots. If you have any more than that …" Tillman stopped. "I was going to tell you to come and see me. But I suppose that won't happen."

"No."

"No."

They were silent for a moment. "Scotch?" Control asked hopefully.

Tillman grinned. He reached under his coat and brought out a slender silver flask.

"You are a gentleman to the end," Control said. He took the flask, took a long drink, wiped away the few drops that had dribbled from the left side of his mouth.

"I could use some of that," Donovan said from the stretcher.

Control helped him drink. "You're a good likeness," he said. "I appreciate what you're doing for me."

"Not for you," Donovan growled. "I don't even know you. But to get out of that VA hellhole, into somewhere with decent care … be a fool not to take it."

"More than decent care," Tillman promised him. "World-class food, VIP treatment. I tweaked your chart so you'll get everything you need. Slur your words for a few weeks; I've got you signed up for speech therapy." He gestured with his head. "Hell, you'll even have visitors once in a while. McCall, the girl, they'll stop by."

"Be a nice change," Donovan said.

"I'm going to miss them," Control said, a little wistfully. "But they'll take good care of you."

Unexpectedly, Donovan seized his hand. "You look at me. Look at me. What you're doing, what I know about it, it's the right thing. Your choice was to end up like this, all alone. You got that? You go and you don't look back. 'Cause all you'll see is me."

Control nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sure you're right, sir. I'm sure you're right."

* * *

Just outside Albany, Tillman tucked Control into the compartment under the bench, opened the window to the cab, and yawned broadly. "We almost there?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes," the driver told him.

"Good. You were right, my kidneys are about to bust back here."

"Just try to hold on."

"Right."

Tillman sat back and gazed at his new patient, Frank Donovan, who had dozed off. At least one of them was comfortable.

* * *

The Pines was much too exclusive to have ambulances parked at the front door, of course. There was a receiving door around the back. Tillman climbed out of the ambulance first and watched as the driver and medic unloaded their stretcher. They barely glanced at the sleeping patient. By then staff from the facility were there, eagerly greeting doctor and patient. It was indeed the VIP treatment Frank Donovan had been promised, and if he had to change his name to Frank Summers to get it, he couldn't have cared less.

Yvette and McCall followed Tillman in and waited in the lounge while they settled Summers in a room. Then a young woman showed them to his suite, which would have put a high-priced hotel to shame, and brought afternoon tea and sandwiches on real china for all of them. They also provided the ambulance crew with refreshments.

The staff at The Pines was accustomed to dealing with famous residents, many with aliases. They knew or guessed that Frank Summers was not their new patient's real name; that was none of their business. They would never know he was the man who had once been Control, and so it did not matter that he was in fact _not_ the man who had been Control. With his goddaughter, his best friend, and his personal physician all there to help with the paperwork, no one at The Pines ever thought to question his identity. And when the increasingly infrequent calls from New York and Washington came to inquire about the health of their resident, they always answered honestly: Mr. Summers is doing very well and seems content to be here.

From the Company, only James Simms ever bothered to visit Mr. Summers. He did so annually, and reported to the Directors each year that the situation was stable and needed no further attention. The Directors, naturally, believed him.

* * *

When everyone had gone inside the building, Control freed himself awkwardly from the little storage coffin and slipped out the back of the ambulance. It was unexpectedly hard to walk; he had not believed Tillman. He carried the cane and leaned his good hand on the side of the ambulance. With agonizing slowness, he worked his way to the high wooden enclosure around the dumpster. It was as far as he could go.

He opened the gate, slipped between the dumpster and the fence, and waited.

It was cold and getting dark.

The dumpster did not smell. The outside of it gleamed with fresh paint. Control nodded. A classy place like this, they washed out the dumpster every time it got emptied. Probably repainted it four times a year. It spoke well of the place. Frank Donovan would be okay here.

He, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. He could barely walk, and he still had a long way to go.

He rested, leaning on the dumpster, until the ambulance crew came out and drove away. Tillman, he imagined, would ride back to the city with Robert and Yvette. The old letch would probably hit on her all the way home. Poor girl.

And yes, Tillman was right, Lily was no older than Yvette. But it was different.

Control grinned to himself. It wasn't his problem, any of it. Not any more. Yvette was perfectly capable of defending herself against the advances of the old letch, and Robert would be there to help her. They would be okay.

And the rest of the world?

Simms could handle it. He was smart, resourceful. He'd be okay. It was a new world anyhow, without the Soviet Union, full of new enemies and new dangers. The old threats were gone. The new ones had arrived, as they always would. Simms' world, Simms' problems. Control was too weary to take them on.

I have a life waiting for me, he told himself. I put it off for decades, but now it's there and I want it.

But first I have to get away from this damn dumpster.

He leaned on the cane, growing more confident in its use with every step, and left the trash enclosure. To his left was the employee parking lot. It was under a heavy canopy, but open on the sides and well-lighted. There were, however, no security cameras here. He limped slowly down the row until he came to a perfectly non-descript car, a dark red sedan, ten years old, with a little rust and a few dents. He tried the driver's door and it opened. Painfully, carefully, he slid into the driver's seat.

"So far, so good," he said to the cane. He settled it against the passenger seat and opened the glove box. There were papers in it, an owner's manual, and under that a key and a small clicker, like a garage door opener.

"Thank you, James," he said quietly. He started the car. It was an automatic. The gas tank was full.

He eased the car out of the parking space. His left arm was more useful than his leg; he could use it to steer. He drove carefully, minding the elegant signs that said the speed limit on the ground was 10 mph. At the employee entrance, he clicked the tall gate open.

Just beyond the gate there was a decorative stone bridge over a fast-running little river. Control stopped the car, rolled down the window, and hurled the clicker into the water. Then he drove on a little faster and pulled to a stop at the main road.

He looked right and left. Both directions the road curved out of sight behind wooded hills. Another elegant sign said that there was a city five miles to his right, a highway seven miles to his left.

The plan, loosely laid out, was that he would check into a nearby hotel and stay for a few days while his arm and leg regained more strength. From there, he would simply travel, ditching the car with its fake registration where he wished. It was a sensible, conservative plan. To the right, to the city, somewhere comfortable to stay.

He was awake, alert, eager to be gone. He had a full tank of gas.

The man who had been Control turned the car to the left and drove towards his new life.


End file.
